Twenties Girl (40 page)

“I don’t know what to do!” I’m half laughing, half perilously near tears. “It’s yours! You should be wearing it! We need the ghost version—”

“Stop!” Sadie’s voice rises in sudden tension. “Don’t…” She breaks off and moves away from me, her eyes fixed on the paving slabs of the courtyard. “You know what you have to do.”

There’s silence apart from the steady roar of Kilburn traffic coming from the main road. I can’t look at Sadie. I’m just standing clutching the necklace. I know this is what we’ve been chasing and hunting and wishing for. But now we have it … I don’t want to have arrived here. Not yet. The necklace is the reason Sadie’s been haunting me. When she gets it back—

My thoughts abruptly veer away. I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to think about any of it.

A breeze rustles some leaves on the ground, and Sadie looks up, pale and resolute.

“Give me some time.”

“Yes.” I swallow. “Sure.” I stuff the necklace into the bag and head back into the restaurant. Sadie has already disappeared.

I can’t eat my pizza. I can’t make proper conversation. I can’t focus when I get back to the office, even though six more calls come in from blue-chip HR managers wanting to set up meetings with me. The Jiffy bag is on my lap; my hand is clutching the necklace tightly inside it and I can’t let go.

I text Ed, saying I have a headache and need to be alone. When I get home, there’s no Sadie, which doesn’t surprise me. I make some supper, which I don’t eat, then sit in bed with the necklace around my neck, twisting the beads and watching old movies on TCM and not even bothering to try to sleep. At last, at about five-thirty, I get up, put on some clothes, and head out. The soft gray of the dawn is tinged with a vivid pink-red sunrise. I stand still, gazing at the red streaks in the sky for a few moments, and in spite of everything feel my spirits lifting. Then I buy a coffee from a café, get on a bus, and head to Waterloo, staring blankly out as the bus trundles through the streets. By the time I arrive it’s nearer six-thirty. People are starting to appear on the bridge and in the streets. The London Portrait Gallery is still shut up, though. Locked and empty; not a soul inside. That’s what you’d think, anyway.

I find a nearby wall, sit down, and sip my coffee, which is lukewarm but delicious on an empty stomach. I’m prepared to sit there all day, but as a nearby church bell strikes eight, she appears on the steps, that dreamy look on her face again. She’s wearing yet another amazing dress, this one in pearl gray with a
tulle skirt cut in petal shapes. A gray cloche is pulled down over her head, and her eyes are lowered. I don’t want to alarm her, so I wait until she notices me and starts in surprise.

“Lara.”

“Hi.” I lift a hand. “Thought you’d be here.”

“Where’s my necklace?” Her voice is sharp with alarm. “Have you lost it?”

“No! Don’t worry. I’ve got it. It’s OK. It’s right here. Look.”

There’s no one around, but I glance right and left, just in case. Then I pull out the necklace. In the clear morning light, it looks more spectacular than ever. I let it run over my hands and the beads click gently together. She gazes down at it lovingly, puts out her hands as though to take it, then draws them back.

“I wish I could touch it,” she murmurs.

“I know.” Helplessly, I hold it out to her, as though presenting an offering. I want to drape it around her neck. I want to reunite her with it.

“I want it back,” she says quietly. “I want you to give it back to me.”

“Now? Today?”

Sadie meets my eyes. “Right now.”

There’s a sudden blocking in my throat. I can’t say any of the things I want to say. I think she knows what they are, anyway.

“I want it back,” she repeats, softly but firmly. “I’ve been too long without it.”

“Right.” I nod several times, my fingers clutching the necklace so hard I think they might bruise. “Well, then, you need to have it.”

The journey is too short. The taxi is slipping through the early-morning streets too effortlessly. I want to tell the driver to slow down. I want time to stand still. I want the taxi to be caught in a jam for six hours. … But all of a sudden we’re drawing up in the little suburban street. We’ve arrived.

“Well, that was quick, wasn’t it?” Sadie’s voice is resolutely bright.

“Yes!” I force a smile. “Amazingly quick.”

As we get out of the taxi, I feel dread clasping my chest like iron. My hand is locked around the necklace so hard, I’m getting cramps in my fingers. But I can’t bring myself to loosen my grasp, even as I’m struggling to pay the driver with the other hand.

The taxi roars away, and Sadie and I look at each other. We’re standing opposite a small row of shops, one of which is a funeral parlor.

“That’s it there.” I point redundantly at the sign saying
Chapel of Rest
. “Looks like it’s closed.”

Sadie has drifted up to the firmly locked door and is peering in the window.

“We’d better wait, I suppose.” She shrugs and returns to my side. “We can sit here.”

She sits down beside me on a wooden bench, and for a moment we’re both silent. I glance at my watch. Eight fifty-five. They open up shop at nine. Just the thought gives me a rush of panic, so I won’t think about it. Not yet. I’ll just focus on the fact that I’m sitting here with Sadie.

“Nice dress, by the way.” I think I sound fairly normal. “Who did you pinch that one from?”

“No one,” says Sadie, sounding offended. “It was mine.” She runs her eyes over me, then says grudgingly, “Your shoes are pretty.”

“Thanks.” I want to smile, but my mouth won’t quite do it. “I bought them the other day. Ed helped me choose them, actually. We were late-night shopping. We went to the Whiteleys center. They had all these special offers on. …”

I don’t know what I’m saying, I’m just talking for the sake of it. Because talking is better than waiting. I glance at my watch again and it’s two minutes past the hour. They’re late. I feel ridiculously grateful, like we’ve been given a reprieve.

“He’s rather good at the old bone-jumping, isn’t he?” Sadie suddenly says conversationally. “Ed, I mean. Mind you … you’re not so bad either.”

Bone-jumping?

She doesn’t mean—

No.
No
.

“Sadie.”
I turn on her. “I
knew
it! You
watched
us!”

“What?” She bursts into peals of laughter. “I was very subtle! You didn’t know I was there.”

“What did you see?” I moan.

“Everything,” she says airily. “And it was a jolly good show, I can tell you.”

“Sadie, you’re impossible!” I clutch my head. “You don’t watch people having sex! There are laws against that!”

“I just had
one
tiny criticism,” she says, ignoring me. “Or, rather … suggestion. Something we used to do in my day.”

“No!” I say in horror. “No suggestions!”

“Your loss.” She shrugs and examines her nails, occasionally shooting me a look from under her lashes.

Oh for God’s sake. Of course, now my curiosity is piqued. I want to know what her suggestion is.

“All right,” I say at last. “Tell me your genius 1920s sex tip. But it better not involve any weird indelible paste.”

“Well…”
Sadie begins, coming closer. But before she can continue, my eyes suddenly focus over her shoulder. I stiffen and draw breath. An elderly man in an overcoat is unlocking the door of the funeral parlor.

“What is it?” Sadie follows my gaze. “Oh.”

“Yes.” I swallow.

By now the elderly man has caught sight of me. I suppose I am quite noticeable, sitting bolt upright on a bench staring directly at him.

“Are you … all right?” he says warily.

“Um … hi.” I force myself to my feet. “I’m actually … I’ve
come to pay a visit to your … to pay my respects. It’s my great-aunt. Sadie Lancaster. I believe you’re … this is where …”

“Aaah.” He nods somberly. “Yes.”

“Could I… possibly … see her?”

“Aaah.” He bows his head again. “Of course. Just give me a minute to open up the place, get a few things straight, and I will be with you, Miss …”

“Lington.”

“Lington.” There’s a flash of recognition in his face. “Of course, of course. If you’d like to come in and wait in our family room …”

“I’ll be in in a moment.” I give an approximation of a smile. “Just got … a call to make …”

He disappears inside. For a moment I can’t quite move. I want to prolong this moment of limbo. I want to stop us doing this. If I don’t acknowledge it, maybe it’s not really going to happen.

“Got the necklace?” comes Sadie’s voice beside me.

“Right here.” I pull it out of my bag.

“Good.” She smiles, but it’s a tense, remote smile. I can tell she’s moved on from 1920s sex tips.

“So … are you ready?” I try to sound lighthearted. “These places can be quite depressing—”

“Oh, I’m not coming in,” says Sadie nonchalantly. “I’ll sit here and wait. Much better.”

“Right.” I nod. “Good idea. You don’t want to…”

I trail off, unable to continue—but also unable to bring up what I’m really thinking. The thought that’s going around and around my head like an ominous tune, getting louder and louder.

Is neither of us going to bring it up?

“So.” I swallow hard.

“So what?” Sadie’s voice is bright and sharp as a chip of diamond—and instantly I know. It’s on her mind too.

“What d’you think will happen when I … when …”

“Do you mean, will you finally be rid of me?” says Sadie, as flippantly as ever.

“No! I just meant—”

“I know. You’re in a tearing hurry to get rid of me. Sick of the sight of me.” Her chin is quivering but she flashes me a smile. “Well, I shouldn’t think it’ll work for a moment.”

Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the message in them.
Don’t lose it. No wallowing. Chin up
.

“So I’m stuck with you.” I somehow manage a derisory tone. “Great.”

“Afraid so.”

“Just what every girl needs.” I roll my eyes. “A bossy ghost hanging around the place forever.”

“A bossy
guardian angel,”
she corrects me firmly.

“Miss Lington?” The elderly man pokes his head out of the door. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks! I’ll just be a sec!”

When the door closes, I adjust my jacket needlessly a few times. I tug at my belt, making sure it’s completely straight, buying myself another thirty seconds.

“So I’ll just dump the necklace and see you in a couple of minutes, OK?” I aim for a matter-of-fact tone.

“I’ll be here.” Sadie pats the bench she’s sitting on.

“We’ll go and see a movie. Something like that.”

“Let’s.” She nods.

I take a step away—then stop. I know we’re playing a game. But I can’t leave it like that. I swivel around, breathing hard, determined that I won’t lose it, I won’t let her down.

“But … just in case. Just in case we …” I can’t bring myself to say it. I can’t even think it. “Sadie, it’s been …”

There’s nothing to say. No word is good enough. Nothing can describe what it’s been like to know Sadie.

“I know,” she whispers, and her eyes are like two glittering stars. “Me too. Go on.”

When I reach the door of the funeral parlor I look back one last time. She’s sitting bolt upright with perfect posture, her neck as long and pale as ever, her dress skimming her slender frame. She’s facing directly ahead, feet lined up neatly, with her hands clasped on her knees. Utterly still. As though she’s waiting.

I can’t imagine what’s going through her mind.

As I stand there, she notices me watching her, lifts her chin, and gives a sudden, ravishing, defiant smile.

“Tally-ho!” she exclaims.

“Tally-ho,” I call back. On impulse, I blow her a kiss. Then I turn and push my way in with determination. It’s time to do this.

The funeral director has made me a cup of tea and rustled up two shortbread biscuits, which he’s put on a plate decorated with roses. He’s a man with a receding chin, who answers every comment with a somber, low-pitched “aaah” before he gets to the actual reply. Which gets
really
irritating.

He leads me down a pastel corridor, then pauses meaningfully outside a wooden door marked
Lily Suite
.

“I’ll let you have a few moments alone.” He opens the door with an expert twist and pushes it a little way, then adds, “Is it true she was once the girl in that famous painting? The one that’s been in the papers?”

“Yes.” I nod.

“Aaah.” He lowers his head. “How extraordinary. One can hardly believe it. Such a very, very
old
lady—one hundred and five, I believe? A very great age.”

Even though I know he’s trying to be nice, his words touch a nerve.

“I don’t think of her like that,” I say curtly. “I don’t think of her as old.”

“Aaah.” He nods hastily. “Indeed.”

“Anyway. I want to put something in the … coffin. Will that be all right? Will it be safe?”

“Aaah. Quite safe, I assure you.”

“And private,” I say fiercely. “I don’t want anyone else going in here after me. If they want to, you contact me first, OK?”

“Aaah.” He surveys his shoes respectfully. “Of course.”

“Well. Thank you. I’ll… go in now.”

I walk in, close the door behind me, and just stand there for a few moments. Now that I’m in here, now that I’m actually doing this, my legs feel a bit watery. I swallow a few times, trying to get a grip on myself, telling myself not to freak out. After about a minute I make myself take a step toward the big wooden coffin. Then another.

That’s Sadie. Real Sadie. My 105-year-old great-aunt. Who lived and died and I never knew her. I edge forward, breathing heavily. As I reach forward, I see just a puff of dry white hair and a glimpse of dried-out old skin.

“Here you are, Sadie,” I murmur. Gently, carefully, I slip the necklace around her neck. I’ve done it.

At last. I’ve done it.

She looks so tiny and shriveled. So vulnerable. All the times I wanted to touch Sadie, I’m thinking. The times I tried to squeeze her arm or give her a hug … and now here she is. Real flesh. Cautiously, I stroke her hair and pull her dress straight, wishing beyond anything she could feel my touch. This frail, ancient, tiny crumbling body was Sadie’s home for 105 years. This was really her.