The idea of influence was there all the time. Colin complained that Wendy was getting far too taken in by Aunty Anne’s friend. “She’s a fascinating woman,” said Wendy. “A real survivor.”
Meanwhile, Timon was terribly wary of her. “You’re mixing in esteemed circles now, hon,” he sad. “She’s taken you under her wing.”
“She gives me the willies,” said Belinda. “But isn’t she glamorous? She’s like one of those paper dollies you used to press out of card, and dress up how you wanted…”
Aunty Anne said, “I think Serena’s very taken with you, Wendy.” And it was decided that Wendy would accompany Serena to London in the days following the funeral. Aunty Anne was also going south, but only as far as Newton Aycliffe, to see her fat man. She would meet them later in Kilburn, where Serena kept her little house.
The flat in the Royal Circus was breaking up. When Serena had read Yeats aloud in the chapel, Wendy latched onto the words, ‘The centre cannot hold’, and she suddenly saw that Uncle Pat had been their centre. And now they were going their own ways. Uncertainty was the prevailing mood and when they gathered in the evening, it wasn’t with any real purpose. Even sitting at the scarred table, drinking and talking as always, it seemed as if they were waiting for something and they didn’t know what.
Serena was down the hall, playing Shubert again, very deliberately and it seemed she was biding her time.
Colin and David were the first to go. They flew to Paris. “I’ll see you in London later,” Colin told her. “You make sure you look after yourself.” He wasn’t at all sure he should leave Wendy with the others, but knew for himself he had to get out for a while. He wanted to see David in some completely other context. They were at that stage and needing to spend some time with none of the others about.
Timon and Belinda went to the west coast, taking the camera. There had been a rash of UFO sightings in the press and she wanted to capture them on tape. Her idea was that, this time, they both would get themselves abducted. They could be great ambassadors, and she would never be afraid with Timon in tow. They told Wendy this. “Take care, hon,” said Timon. “And keep your elasticity.” This time it sounded like a warning not to get swayed by anyone else’s ideas. That seemed like a joke, coming from Timon.
“You’re the naïve receptor,” she told him.
He took a laughing gulp of coffee and found it cold. They had sat for hours that morning, saying tentative goodbyes. It was time for them to go.
Belinda wouldn’t stop hugging and thanking her for introducing her to this lovely man. “My life has changed,” said Belinda, “more than I could ever have imagined.”
They left, making Wendy feel like a success.
Serena booked them tickets at Waverley for King’s Cross.
“You have the whole of the capital to explore.”
Wendy found herself being surly. “This is a capital, too.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t done London before. Do you realise how weird that is? At your age?”
Aunty Anne packed up Uncle Pat’s things. She had a variety of charities bring their vans to the front door and made the others carry the boxes down.
“Does Colin know you’re throwing out his dad’s things?” Wendy asked.
“Oh, yes.”
But he didn’t. When he returned from Paris, weeks later, he was horrified.
On the train they talked about Serena’s suffering. She did it lightly and with the utmost irony. Wendy was glad to hear her talk, to take her mind off her adopted town, slipping away.
“Of course I have millions of friends, the world over. And I can put the masks on. I never look lonely or tired. But I am lonely, truly. I despise going back to that house in Kilburn when it’s empty and I’m alone. I adore taking visitors with me.”
She clasped Wendy’s hands across the table. The train was full with people leaving after the New Year and both Wendy and Serena had bags on their knees.
“Most people wouldn’t say they were lonely,” Wendy thought aloud.
“Most people are without feeling,” said Serena. “But they are all damaged and chipped in some way. And I might hide my scratches and knocks under a surface of brilliant irony and, if I say so myself, glamour, but you learn to turn the damage inwards. Like a display of fine china. You have to show them the best side. Pull me out of my cabinet, though, and you’d see. Turn me round in a strong light and then… oh, my dear, I’m a horror!”
She made Wendy laugh.
“One day I’ll tell you my story.”
Here it comes, thought Wendy. Someone else telling me things. If only it was Mandy with this talent for eliciting confidences. She needs the material. But Mandy tended to make people fall silent. Her beauty and her muttering closed other people off from her.
“But I shan’t tell you yet,” Serena went on. “You’re at a funny age to hear a story like mine. I wouldn’t want you to judge me too harshly.” Then she bought them a bottle
