SIX

I had got into the Yeti and started the engine when I heard a tap on the window. I lowered it and found myself facing a thin, birdlike elderly woman.

‘You’ve just come from Number Fourteen?’ she asked.

‘That’s right.’

‘Who was the others? Why was you there, come to that?’

‘I’d been helping the owner declutter the place for some months.’

‘Oh, you must be that Ellen he talked about.’

‘That’s right. My name’s Ellen Curtis.’

‘He had a lot of time for you, Cedric did.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. And,’ I continued, making a leap of intuition, ‘might you be Vi?’

‘That’s me, right. Who was the others with you in the house?’

‘Roy, Cedric’s son, and his wife.’

‘Oh, so they waited till the old boy was dead to come and see him, did they?’

I didn’t comment.

‘Who was the other guy then?’

‘Tim Goodrich. He’s the executor of the estate.’

‘Oh, right. Funny, I thought he looked familiar, like I’d seen him round here before.’

‘He used to be a GP in Chichester. Maybe you came across him then.’

‘I suppose it’s possible. Anyway, sorry old Cedric passed.’

I winced inwardly. I’d never liked that expression. So far as I was concerned, however much you sanitized it, death was death and what people did was die. ‘Had you known him a long time, Vi?’ I asked.

‘Since he and Flick moved here. I’ve lived in the same house in Seacrest Avenue all my life. I was born over there at Number Twenty-Three. So, I’ve known the Waiteses since they moved in here. Got to be fifty years ago. Before their Roy was born.’

‘And back then was Cedric reclusive?’

‘How d’ja mean?’

‘Was he shy? Did he shut himself off from people, like he had done for the last few years?’

Vi rubbed her chin thoughtfully. ‘I’d never really thought about it. I mean, Flick was always the live wire in that couple. She’d do most of the talking … but that was all right. That’s just how they was in company, Flick chattering away nineteen to the dozen, and Cedric kind of smiling quietly in the background. There was no doubt the marriage worked. They adored each other.’

‘So, were you surprised when Cedric cut himself off from everyone after Flick died?’

‘Well, it was quite a time before I noticed anything strange. She was the one I’d see more of, you know, out in the streets, round the shops. Took me a while to realize Cedric had cut himself off. I went round to his place … I don’t know, couple of months after she’d passed. I’d had a flyer through the door about a local art exhibition I thought might interest him. And Cedric wouldn’t open the front door to me. Actually talked through the letter-box. Said I’d caught him when he’s just got out of the bath and he only had a towel on. But I had my suspicions.

‘I went round the next week with another made-up excuse and again he’d only talk to me through the letter-box. He did the bath-towel line again, but I wasn’t going to believe that twice, was I? So, I said to him straight, “If you’re not going to answer the door to me ever again, you tell me. Then I won’t go wasting my time coming round, will I?” And he said it wasn’t like that, but I knew it was.’

‘How did you know?’ I asked.

‘I’d had experience of something similar.’

‘Oh?’

‘My brother Clark, he got that way. Four years older than me he was. Had an apprenticeship, learning to be a garage mechanic, down in Portsmouth. One day he comes home, says he’s not going to do it no more. Goes up to his bedroom and doesn’t come out of there till he’s brought out feet first. Seven years ago it is now that he passed.’

‘What,’ I asked, ‘and the family brought meals to him all that time?’

‘Yes. Our mum did and, when she passed, I took over.’ She looked at me with a rueful grin. ‘It happens surprisingly often, families have someone like Clark at home, someone who never goes out.’

I nodded. I’d come across an unexpected number of such cases.

‘Some people,’ Vi went on, ‘said that that was a waste of a life, his. But it weren’t. There was things Clark enjoyed, things that made his life worthwhile. I miss him.

‘Anyway …’ She pulled herself together. ‘Because of Clark, I knew what was going on with Cedric. I said, “All right, if that’s how you want it to be, I won’t bother you no more. But if you want me to do anything, you’ve got my number. You know, shopping or cooking the odd meal.” While Clark was alive, I’d got used to cooking for two every meal. Cedric said thank you, he’d think about it.

‘Then, a few months later, he does ring me. He says he’s getting most of his food, ready meals and stuff, delivered by … Avocado, was it?’

‘Ocado.’

‘That’s right. But he says he wouldn’t mind a bit more variety in his diet, so could he take me up on my offer of cooking the odd meal? And I say that’s fine and we get into this pattern. Tuesdays and Thursdays I cook an extra portion of what I’m having for my supper and I put it in one of them plastic boxes, Tupperware or something, and I leave them round outside his kitchen door. I don’t think he was using the front door by then.

‘And Cedric insists on paying me. There’s a fiver waiting on the back doorstep every time I get there. And I wasn’t doing it for money, but he gets offended if I don’t take it, so I do. I never see him, though.

‘And first of all, he leaves out the plastic containers, all neatly washed, for me to pick up. And then he starts forgetting to do that … or decides he’s not going to do it any more … I don’t know, number of containers went to waste. Not that I mind. I’m happy to do something for the old boy.’

This sounded rich, coming from Vi, who must have been considerably older than Cedric.

‘So, when did you last actually see him?’

She drew her breath in as she assessed the question. ‘Probably at Flick’s funeral, I suppose.’

‘And was Roy there?’

‘Oh yes. With that pot of poison of a wife.’

‘But if you saw them there, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize her this afternoon.’

‘They wasn’t dressed like Hell’s Angels at the funeral,’ Vi said curtly.

I giggled. ‘No. I suppose they wouldn’t have been.’

‘Nor was she the other time I saw her.’

I should have followed up on that but I was in a hurry. I checked my watch. ‘Look, Vi, I’ve got to be on my way. Could I take your phone number? You know, just in case I need to be in touch over Cedric’s things. I’m going to be tidying out the house.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She gave it to me. Landline beginning with the local code, 01243. I couldn’t somehow see Vi having a mobile. Wrong generation. Her surname, it turned out, was Spelling.

I gave her one of the SpaceWoman cards with my contact details. I didn’t somehow expect her to be using the email, though.

‘I must say,’ said Vi as I started the engine, ‘I was surprised when I heard that Cedric had passed. I thought he was one of those who would go on for ever.’

Her words, taken together with what Tim had said, made me want to know more about Cedric Waites. I was glad I had taken on the task of sifting through the clues of his life.

I recognized the car that was parked outside my house. Not that I’d seen it that often, but mothers tend to remember surprising details about the women their sons are sleeping with. It was Pippa’s.

I found them both in the kitchen making ham and cheese toasties. Now I’ve tried hard not to be the kind of mother who objects to family members appearing unannounced. So far as I’m concerned, it’s Ben’s house as much as mine, he can come and go as he likes. But I couldn’t suppress a mini-pang at the fact that he’d suddenly turned up without having been in touch at all for the past fortnight.

So, I know it makes me sound like an over-fussy sitcom mother but, given Ben’s history, I’m never going to stop worrying about him. Yes, yes, all that two weeks without contacting his old ma probably means is that he’s having a very nice time with Pippa, thank you. And if he hadn’t turned up as agreed to work on the furniture, Dodge would have told me. So I know he’s all right. But all that logic doesn’t stop my worst imaginings.

When I entered the kitchen, Pippa threw her arms round me fulsomely. Oh dear, am I being bitchy again to say ‘fulsomely’? It’s just that I always think there’s something theatrical about the intensity of her hugs, as if their vigour is designed to be a measure of their sincerity. The lady protesting too much, perhaps …?

Pippa is very pretty. I wouldn’t be so churlish as to deny her that. Small, perfectly compact figure, naturally red hair worn very short. ‘Elfin’ is the adjective that springs to mind. I know mothers shouldn’t speculate on the sex lives of their offspring, but I get the feeling she’d be very good in bed. Which is nice for Ben.

And yes, a nurse. Though she wears her caring role lightly. Oops, bitchy again, must stop this.

Once I had been released by Pippa, Ben tapped me lightly on the shoulder and said, ‘Hi, Ma.’ Always a slight level of irony when he calls me that.

‘Hi,’ I said. Then, banally, ‘All going well?’

‘Swimmingly, Ma.’ Again, said with irony.

Ridiculously, I couldn’t think of what to say next. To my son. To Ben, for God’s sake!

‘Heard from Jools?’ was the best I could come up with.

‘No.’

‘She seems to have vanished off the radar.’

Ben shrugged. ‘She does that from time to time.’

‘Yes.’

Awful. I never got becalmed in conversations with Ben. Even when he was in the abyss of one of his depressions, I could always think of something to say to him.

Pippa filled the void. ‘Exciting times we live in, eh?’

I was nonplussed. ‘Sorry? What are you talking about?’

‘Ben’s Riq and Raq animation has been shortlisted for a TOCA Film Festival Award. Didn’t he tell you that?’

‘Of course he told me,’ I replied, trying not to sound testy. Yes, he’d told me, but I felt marginally miffed that he had told her. I thought we had this principle about keeping the knowledge of shortlisting to the minimum number of people.

I had to face the fact. I was jealous of my son’s girlfriend. It wasn’t an emotion that I was proud of. ‘When are the winners announced?’ I asked, though I knew full well.

‘Saturday week,’ said Pippa.

‘I’m trying not to think about it,’ said Ben.

‘Yes, but you can’t stop yourself from thinking about it, can you, Benji?’

No. Not ‘Benji’. Please.

‘I’m doing my best to.’ Then, with a smile to her, ‘And I would be succeeding if a certain person didn’t keep raising the subject.’

‘All right, you can blame me for that,’ she said with a winsome little laugh. ‘I just know how much difference something like this could make to your career. You’re destined for something better than making furniture, Benji. Winning the TOCA could make all the difference. You know that, don’t you, Ellen?’

Having had my opinion graciously sought, I dutifully agreed how important winning could be. But I felt uneasy, and I could see that Ben did too. Tempting providence, counting chickens, all that. The kind of thinking that Oliver and I had always avoided.

Then Pippa compounded the offence by saying, ‘Benji’s Riq and Raq animation is bound to win. It’s absolutely brilliant! Don’t you agree, Ellen?’

And I was put in the humiliating position of admitting that my son hadn’t shown the film to me yet.

Ben and Pippa went back to Brighton fairly soon. I never did find out what had brought them to Chichester that day. Still, at least I’d had some contact with my son. I could see that he appeared to be OK. Though I wish I felt more certain that he really was.

That evening I had a call from Tim, confirming dinner the following night, the Tuesday. He’d booked a table for eight o’clock at Purchase’s in North Street.

It was a long time since I’d been there. It was a long time since I’d been anywhere like that.

Long time since I’d been on a date. Not, of course, that this was a date.

Dodge was very jumpy on the Tuesday morning as we drove to Mim’s in his Commer. He didn’t like being driven, would always rather be at the wheel himself. Which was fine by me, the only drawback being that, because we were travelling in the van, I had to transfer some of my basic equipment from the back of the Yeti.

Dodge is naturally taciturn and I’m used to doing most of the talking when we’re together. But I’ve never known him as clammed up as he was that morning.

He only broke his silence once. I was talking about the set-up at 14 Seacrest Avenue and how I’d agreed to take on the clearance of the premises. (I didn’t mention that I was having dinner with the estate’s executor that evening.) I was idly speculating about the cause of Cedric’s death, when Dodge said suddenly, ‘I can’t get over the fact that I was the last person to see him alive. I should have checked on him more carefully. Maybe there was something I could have done.’

Dodge was equally silent when we got to Mim’s, but that was not unusual. He was always shy around people, particularly new people. It had taken me a long time to establish a relatively chatty relationship with him (the relationship of which there was no evidence that morning).

But it was fine. A part of Mim Galbraith’s rather grand manner seemed to involve ignoring tradespeople, so she made no overtures to Dodge. It made me feel fortunate to have been acknowledged and even offered coffee on my introduction to her. But maybe that was because I had the validation of being brought into the house by Allegra. Although I was there in a professional capacity, her introduction had made my visit more of a social event.

I wasn’t offered coffee that morning. Nor was Dodge. He would have said no, anyway. His tipple of choice is nettle tea.

So, while he got on with measuring the shelves that would need replacing, I sat and chatted with Mim. In anticipation of seeing her, I had the previous evening dug out my tattered paperback of Sylvia Plath’s Colossus, and Other Poems. It brought back recollections of teenage angst.

‘I had a look at “Spinster”,’ I said to Mim.

‘What?’

‘“Spinster”, the Sylvia Plath you mentioned when I first met you.’

‘I know, I know,’ she said testily.

‘It reminded me how much I liked it. The woman in the poem has power, she builds up her defences against men.’

‘Yes. That’s the kind of thing feminist critics seize upon with Sylvia.’ Mim was back in confident, schoolteacher mode. ‘I’m not sure that she really was that much of a feminist, certainly not when I knew them. The brightness of that particular aura has been added by the Plath myth-builders.’

‘Probably,’ I said, well aware that this was a subject on which I knew considerably less than she did.

‘And there is certainly no lack of that cohort,’ pronounced Mim without full approval. ‘Hordes of minor academics have jumped on the Ted-bashing bandwagon. Particularly bloody Americans. American academics seem to have far too much time to take up causes. But, of course, they didn’t know them as I did.’

‘This was when Ted and Sylvia lived in London?’

‘Yes. I’d known him first at Cambridge. Then, later, he and Sylvia lived in Primrose Hill. Fitzroy … Fitzroy … I can’t remember whether it was “Road” or “Avenue”. Or what number theirs was. Twenty … twenty something? Oh, I used to know this!’ The last sentence was almost petulant with frustration.

I thought a change of subject might save her further pain. ‘When I was here with Allegra, you mentioned that she’d organized another declutterer for you.’

‘Yes. What of it?’

‘And apparently that hadn’t worked out. You said they didn’t like books.’

‘They didn’t. They just wanted me to get rid of books. They didn’t seem to realize that books are the continuity of my life. I didn’t have children. The right time and the right man never coincided. And yes, there were my pupils, whose company I enjoyed while they were under my tutelage. But I didn’t stay in touch with them. I always had a new intake to get to know, and they had their own lives to lead, mostly lives on the treadmill of marriage and children. But my books reflect different times for me. Different friends, different lovers … They are the … As I say, the …’

At the end of the long, articulate speech, the memory let her down again. ‘“The continuity of your life”,’ I suggested gently.

‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘I was about to say that.’

‘And we established that this other declutterer was called Rosemary Findlay.’

‘What of it?’

‘I just wondered, when you said “things didn’t work out”, whether you’d actually had a row, or how the business relationship ended.’

‘I found her putting books into cardboard boxes to take away. And she hadn’t checked with me which books I wanted to part with. She seemed to feel her job was just to make space in the house by clearing everything out. I wasn’t going to tolerate that. She treated me as if I was some kind of imbecile, incapable of making up her own mind about anything.’

‘Ah. Well, I promise you I won’t get rid of anything you don’t want got rid of.’

‘Good. You ask how my “business relationship” with the Findlay woman ended.’ Mim had good recall of certain details. ‘I told her that if she didn’t have more respect for people’s property, then she was in the wrong line of work. And then she had the nerve to send me an invoice for the hours she had done.’

‘Did you pay it?’

‘Yes. A small price to get her definitively out of my life.’

Things Mim had said about her past intrigued me and I took advantage of her current lucidity to ask, ‘You said you knew Ted Hughes at Cambridge?’

‘Yes, I was a sort of hanger-on with the lot he went around with. Lucky to be included, they really thought I was too posh. But I was sleeping with one of them, so they tolerated me for his sake. A lot of drinking cider at The Mill pub and singing folk songs, I recall. Not really my social scene but back then, as a woman, your interests had to reflect those of the man you were with.’

‘And you said you saw Ted Hughes in London when he was married to Sylvia Plath?’

‘Yes, a bit. I was sleeping with another of their friends by then, well, someone in their circle. There were other poets they saw a great deal of then. Like Peter … Peter …? Oh, damn, I can see his face. What was his bloody name? Peter …?’

But the clouds of forgetfulness had closed over again.

In the Commer driving back to Chichester, Dodge did not initiate any conversation. At one point, I asked him if he was going to use wood from pallets (his favourite building material) to replace the broken shelves in Mim’s house.

‘No,’ he said, ‘Not strong enough, for one thing. And won’t match the originals. I’ve got a load of wood planks saved from a school they were demolishing. It’s the right quality and I can stain it to match.’

I should have known. The unoccupied house that Dodge owned was stacked to the rafters with all kinds of salvage. He had the right wood there for any repair job.

‘And the furniture you’re making with Ben – that all going well?’

He didn’t answer. He didn’t say another word till he was about to deposit me outside my house, where the Yeti was parked. Then he answered my question.

Dodge was such an anomaly but, through the layers of trauma, his ingrained middle-class good manners usually asserted themselves. ‘About the furniture,’ he said awkwardly, his gaze as ever averted from me, ‘it’s busy. There’s a playschool in Littlehampton got flooded when a water main burst. All the desks were ruined. I’m replacing them. Got to get a move on.’

He said no more, no goodbye, just drove off.

Oh dear, I thought, that’s going to be another job he’ll be doing for free. Which will lead to more unspoken friction with Ben. Their working relationship just wasn’t going to last.

I found myself praying to the God I didn’t believe in that my son’s Riq and Raq animation would win the TOCA Award. With all the positive career boosts that might follow.

I was determined not to take more trouble than usual with dressing for my dinner at Purchase’s. It wasn’t a date, after all.

I went for dark navy trousers and a plain shirt with a mandarin collar. Grey … well, Moon Grey I’m pretty sure it was called. And, with the evenings getting warmer, all I needed on top was a cardigan in Soft White. All Eileen Fisher. Good quality, not ostentatious. And a very long time since I’d worn them.

While I was checking out my make-up in the mirror, my SpaceWoman mobile rang. It was after six and, since I try to separate work and life (though they spill over into each other all the time), I let it go to message.

When I checked, it was a Gerry Cullingford who’d called. There couldn’t be many people with that name around. Must be the husband of Lita. He asked me to ring him back. What on earth could he want? I’d call him in the morning.

A final check in the mirror convinced me that I wasn’t wearing enough colour. I changed the Moon Grey shirt for a jersey top in Papaya.

Not that it mattered. After all, it wasn’t a date.