Kathryn tried to set aside her concerns as she negotiated the crowded pavements of Covent Garden, but she kept seeing images from Jack’s diary, and her thoughts circled back to the idea that Stephen was hiding something. If he was so proud of his uncle, then why weren’t any of Jack’s paintings in the house? And why didn’t Stephen display Jack’s photo? Perhaps he was keeping everything sealed in storage for protection.
But the same instincts that had told her Eleanor wasn’t being totally honest were sounding again. Perhaps once she had talked it through with Helen it would all seem more reasonable, make more sense.
Even the side streets felt claustrophobic, so Kathryn took the next alleyway, a short cut to Neal Street, and was soon part of the throng that swept into James Street, the main artery to the Piazza. The day had transformed into an unusually humid September evening; it could have been a Melbourne summer night, only without the lemon-scented gum trees and cackle of birds. There was almost a carnival mood. Ribbons of lights twinkled above her, strung from the blue metal girders, and everywhere she looked tourists were taking pictures of the Piazza’s cascading flower baskets. The dusk filled with the overlapping sounds of street performers and the melody of voices—couples walking hand in hand over the cobblestones, office workers spilling across tables at outdoor cafes, and shoppers swarming like bees through handicraft stalls. Lovers and friends seemed content to lean against the brickwork, marking time on their phones as they waited for their dates to arrive.
She was due to meet Helen at the Punch & Judy pub and expected that she would be late; she always was. But as Kathryn made her way down into the brick basement, she saw her best friend seated at an outside table.
Helen’s face lit up. It had been nearly two years—far too long.
‘Let me look at you,’ Kathryn said when Helen finally let go of her.
It was maddening the way that Helen didn’t seem to change at all, still maintaining her boho charm after all these years. She insisted it was her disciplined yoga regime and organic lifestyle, but Kathryn guessed it had more to do with the fact that she didn’t have the stress of a family and had more time for herself.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ Helen said, finally sitting down.
Kathryn sat next to her, looping her bag around her knees; the area had always been notorious for pickpockets. The couple at the table behind shuffled their stools to provide extra room, and Kathryn smiled at them before turning back to Helen.
‘I see you’ve made a start without me,’ she said, noticing a bottle in the wine cooler.
‘I wanted to get here early and choose a nice French white,’ Helen replied, filling Kathryn’s glass and topping up her own. ‘I know how much you miss them.’
‘That’s so sweet. Thank you. And clever of you to think of coming here.’
Friday nights after work had often been spent here or in another Covent Garden bar, and then on to a club. That usually meant a sleep-in on Saturday that inevitably led to a late morning brunch at a local cafe, or an urgent shopping mission for an outfit to wear that night. Perhaps it was the long, lazy Sundays that Kathryn had the fondest memories of, though: lunch with friends, a walk through one of the city’s heaths or parks, and sometimes a visit to a pub for live music and drinks to round off the weekend. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
‘So, how’s it all going?’ Helen asked as if she’d read her mind.
Kathryn decided to save the harder conversation about Chris until later and talk about her grandmother first. ‘It’s a little odd, really, to be investigating the past like this, but it’s also quite intriguing…I feel a bit like Miss Marple! I’m not sure where it will all lead, but I’m doing my best. Anyway, how are you?’ she said, leaning over and squeezing her friend’s hand. ‘It really is so lovely to see you.’
‘I’m great, but before I forget,’ Helen said, rummaging in her bag. ‘This is for you…’
She handed Kathryn a round wooden board covered with pictures that were hard to see in the low light. Some were neatly cut, while others had ragged edges as though scissors had been used in a hurry. In fact, it bore a close resemblance to one of Oliver’s school projects.
‘Thank you, but I don’t need a new bread board,’ Kathryn said, less than enthusiastic. ‘I’m trying to travel light too.’
Helen rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not a bread board! It’s a vision board. It’s to help you. And it’s high time you started looking after yourself. This is a way for you to focus—on you.’
Kathryn leaned closer, examining the images: Chris, Kathryn and Oliver in the centre, a photo of Eleanor on the left across a decoupage of English landscapes, and a picture of Kathryn and Oliver on the right over simple motifs of Australiana—their photo was from a few years ago, and she was smiling…
Kathryn looked back up at Helen. ‘I do seem relaxed there, don’t I? It’s very thoughtful of you, but I am focusing at the moment, just not on myself.’
‘I don’t believe you. Look at you.’ Helen’s hands wafted the air in front of her. ‘Your chakras are so out of whack. Anyway, these are just suggestions—you can choose your own affirmations and put them on. Whatever works for you.’
‘Cheers,’ Kathryn said, raising her glass and waiting for Helen to toast. ‘Here’s to getting my chakras straightened out.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Helen said. She took a sip and placed her glass down, attention back on the vision board. ‘I’ve given you a harmonious family over here so that you can celebrate them, and—’
‘And then just me and Oliver.’ Kathryn raised her eyebrows at her friend; she’d only recently told Helen about the trial separation, wanting to make a decision about whether it would be long term without the influence of family and friends, especially the ones who might want her to move back.
‘Well,’ said Helen, ‘you can remove images or add ones that give you clarity. It’s your vision of the life you want. Say, if you meditate in the morning, it will help give you the clarity during the day that you need to achieve your goals.’
Kathryn loved that her friend cared so much, but she couldn’t explain to her that there was no time for yoga or meditation when she was working full-time and with all of Oliver’s commitments, especially now she was looking after him alone most of the time. She and Helen had discussed some of this once before, and it had ended as a married versus single debate; she didn’t want to go there again.
Kathryn laughed uneasily. ‘Look, I get the family of two or family of three thing—very subtle—but it’s the decision that I’m having a bit of trouble with.’
‘Positive thoughts lead to positive outcomes. I used one of these boards to help me find a new vocation. It’s anything you want it to be.’
‘It’s very—how shall I put this? Innocent.’
‘I know it might seem immature to you, Kat, but it’s no different to using Pinterest. This is just more…tangible.’
Kathryn supposed her friend had a point. She used visuals all the time for work, creating mood boards for clients to focus on when she responded to their briefs. Some people took one look at the pastiche of materials and loved what she’d produced, while others found them of no interest. Now she divided her clients into two groups: ‘too much money, too little time’ and ‘too much time, too little taste’.
After laying the board on the table, Kathryn leaned over it, studying the intricate pattern of the wood’s grain behind the pictures and deciding that there was something quite charming and childlike about it. It reminded her of a doll’s house she’d decorated as a ten-year-old, with wallpaper and even miniature books and magazines—she had used hand-cut pictures for all of them. This board had taken Helen some time to make.
And the photos had reminded Kathryn that she was supposed to be working out her future on this trip instead of getting completely drawn into Eleanor’s past.
‘I love it, I really do. Thank you,’ she said, coming around to the idea—then realising it was unlikely to make it home with her, since you can’t take wood into Australia. She leaned over and kissed her friend.
‘It’s a pleasure!’ Helen said, beaming back.
She didn’t look in the least bit offended, so Kathryn clinked her glass again and took another sip. The cold Chablis was refreshing after the dusty heat of the underground and all the rushing around, and it helped to relax and focus her mind faster than any number of vision boards could have. She sipped it again.
‘How’s everything at home?’ Helen asked with a touch of concern.
‘Not yet, let’s just enjoy this for a while.’ A wave of emotion caused Kathryn’s voice to tremble. ‘I’m sure once I start, I shan’t be able to shut up.’
Helen gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Of course. And before I forget, there’s a wonderful new cafe I’m going to take you to for breakfast tomorrow.’
‘Oh…’
‘What?’
‘I’m sorry, Hels. I have to get the train back to Kent tonight. I can’t stay.’
‘But I thought we were going to have the day together.’ Helen sounded quite put out.
‘We were, but something’s come up—I’ve got photos of an old diary of Jack’s, and I need to show them to Gran. Can we postpone until Thursday? Would that work for you?’
Kathryn had tried reading the diary entries to her grandmother over the phone, but it was too difficult for her to follow, so she had to see them. Kathryn had also assured Chris that she would finish the Nautilus concept revisions so they were ready for the council meeting, and that would already mean burning some midnight oil.
‘I’m not sure,’ Helen said, still looking disappointed. ‘It’s not that easy to drop everything, you know. I’ll have to rearrange a few things.’
Helen’s Chinese mother and Scandinavian father had given her the bone structure and skin tone that other women envied, but it was her sunniness that really got her noticed, and Kathryn watched it fade.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kathryn said, ‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘Don’t worry.’ Helen averted her eyes. ‘I was just so looking forward to this. I thought it would be like old times.’
‘I know. Me too. But Thursday—I’ll definitely come back then.’ Kathryn placed her hand over her friend’s. It was this feast or famine existence that she found so difficult. She wanted to spend more time with her loved ones here, before it was too late.
When Helen turned back, her eyes were watery. Kathryn was close to tears too, but she willed them away.
Helen wiped her eyes and took a gulp of wine. ‘So,’ she said after a pause, ‘how’s my gorgeous godson?’
‘He’s not too bad. His school has a new support teacher he really likes. I don’t have to take him to extra classes before school anymore, which is good.’
‘You must be missing him.’
‘I am, and it’s hard on him too. He gets very unsettled when he’s out of routine, and by what he hears on the news. He’s trying to listen out for me, hear what’s going on so he can protect me, but he doesn’t filter information in the same way we do, so everything seems very real to him. Imagine how overwhelming that must be. But, oh, take a look at this…’ She picked up her phone and scrolled through until she found the video of Oliver playing the piano. Helen watched his first two clumsy attempts at ‘Für Elise’ until a third attempt when he made it through the piece. ‘That’s amazing. The boy is gifted!’
‘Not really. It’s Suzuki method, so he listens rather than reads. The specialist says it’s good for him. And he enjoys it, which is the main thing.’
‘He’s really good. He should be very proud of himself.’
‘Well, it’s taken nearly a year for him to learn that piece. He has a concert the day I get back—hopefully Chris is helping him with his practice. Anyway, I’ll send you a video.’ She placed the phone down. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it? Here we are sending videos across the world and getting live feeds from war zones, and seventy years ago they were drawing pictures of battlefields and sending them home, and that took weeks. Then it might be months before they could actually be viewed in a gallery or seen in a newspaper.’
‘You really are getting into this search, aren’t you?’
‘It’s hard not to. The history is so interesting!’
She told Helen about the second journal, and a little about Stephen Aldridge and his strange house. Then she outlined her plans for the next few days.
‘Most of the library and museum archives have been digitised now,’ she concluded, ‘so it’s a lot quicker to find things out. You can become an expert on anything these days.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Helen asked. ‘Isn’t it more a case of jack-of-all-trades and master of none?’
Kathryn thought about this as she watched the silhouette of their candle dance off the brick wall, the basement becoming darker as dusk settled into night and more people crowded the downstairs bar.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said after a while. ‘Information is power, so there’s power in the hands of many now rather than just a few.’
‘I suppose so,’ Helen said. ‘Although I sometimes wonder how much good it has done us.’
‘I know what you mean. Perhaps we’ve seen so many images that we don’t get affected by them anymore. I think that’s why the war paintings are so moving—they may be from seventy years ago but they still have a real impact on you. I don’t think all the coverage now is necessarily a good thing. Back then there were only a few witnesses to war, and it affected them deeply, being privy to those horrors. It took its toll.’
She knew she was rambling, but she was just trying to make sense of it all, and it was a relief to speak to someone who knew her so well. She was working out her place in the world while trying to figure out Eleanor’s life over half a century ago, and the two felt incomparable.
From the corner of her eye, Kathryn noticed the waiter hovering. She beckoned him over and they ordered their favourite: fish pie and pea puree. The waiter topped up their glasses before quickly reappearing with a basket of French bread and a white ceramic bowl of butter that they instantly swooped on.
‘Well, I think it all sounds rather intriguing,’ said Helen, after devouring her slice of bread. ‘Although it might be harder to work out than you expect.’
‘I know,’ Kathryn replied. ‘I’m worried about what it was that made Jack disappear in the first place. He was posted alongside regular soldiers—all the war artists were—but he never fought as one. There must be some guilt, or something.’
Kathryn had listened to the recording of her grandmother’s voice again on the train from Hampstead: He was a mystery at first. His paintings were so beautiful—but him, he gave nothing away. Not until I knew him. Then…then it was a whole different story…
Kathryn stared off into the distance, her mind spinning. ‘And why didn’t he come looking for Eleanor—if he was so important to her?’
Helen cleared her throat in quite a pointed way.
‘Sorry,’ Kathryn whispered guiltily. Even old friends wouldn’t listen to rambling forever.
Their food arrived and they ate in silence for a few moments until Kathryn looked up to see Helen watching her, eyes narrowed slightly.
‘What?’ Kathryn asked, though she guessed what her friend was about to ask.
‘Have we had enough wine to talk about the elephant in the room?’
Kathryn was enjoying the smoky taste of the haddock that she so missed, but now she set down her cutlery with a sigh. ‘Alright.’
‘So how’s Chris?’
‘Angry, confused, trying…but not hard enough. I think he’s more worried about losing the house than me and Oli.’
‘No!’
‘Seems like it.’ Kathryn looked down and picked at the pastry that was stuck to her dish. ‘I can’t blame him in one way. We’ve only been there for a year, and it’s the house he designed and built—his baby.’
‘He couldn’t stay there?’
‘No way,’ she said, her head jerking up. ‘It’s in a very expensive suburb, South Yarra. We can barely afford to be there on two incomes.’
‘What’s next then?’
‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘I just want to do what’s best.’
‘For who?’
Kathryn’s mind ran in circles trying to figure it out. Did she love Chris enough to stay with him if he couldn’t change? Could she cope with Oli on her own—and, if not, would Chris agree to let her bring their son back here? Could she live in Melbourne long term?
Lifting her glass close to Helen’s, she said, ‘I’m not sure, but I do know one thing. I want to bring Oli over for a visit soon, with or without Chris.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Helen said, and they toasted it. ‘When?’
‘Oh, round about Christmas time,’ Kathryn replied, her sigh giving way to a smile. ‘And I’d like for it to be a long visit.’
‘I do wish you would. I can see how unsettled you are, Kat. You need to make a decision, for your sake and Oli’s. At least come for a while to try it.’ Helen was getting quite heated, the wine giving her extra fervour.
‘I know, but the courts won’t allow me to take Oli overseas without Chris’s permission.’
‘And he wouldn’t give it?’
‘It’s not come to that yet, Helen,’ she said, suddenly defensive. ‘It is a trial separation.’
‘I know, but it’s not fair. You’ve been there for what, eleven years? It’s his turn to make a sacrifice, if this is where you want to be.’
But Kathryn didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She had spent hours arguing and discussing it with him, and days reeling disconnected as a result. She wanted to enjoy the little time she had with her best friend. ‘Enough about my troubles,’ she said. ‘Tell me what’s been going on with you.’
The music changed tempo, rock replacing jazz, as they spent the next hour catching up. Then Kathryn remembered that the fast trains to Tunbridge Wells were only once an hour at night. She paid before Helen had a chance to resist, guilty about letting her friend down by not staying the night. Their honest conversations meant more to her than Helen could ever know, but Kathryn had to make Eleanor and Nautilus her priorities.
‘If I run, I can get the nine twenty-three,’ she said, checking her phone. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, you go. I’m going to get the tube, anyway. Love you.’ Helen hugged her.
‘Love you too.’
‘Hey, don’t forget your bread board.’ Helen tucked it into Kathryn’s hessian bag beside the painting. ‘And, Kat…’
‘Yes?’
‘You sound so Australian!’