the flowers . . . Cecily’s ring, perhaps I should use the ring as the centrepiece? My pencil is getting blunter as I push heavily down onto the pad, sketching, rubbing out, resketching . . . My mind is clear of everything else troubling it. I love this, the fact that you can escape into your imagination, use a part of your brain that isn’t affected by everything else in your life. I lost it for a while. It’s so good to have it back; even if what results is rubbish, just to know I stil love doing it is the most important thing. And the voice in my head, sounding remarkably like Clare Lomax, that has been tel ing me I ought to give up the studio and save on the rent, is silenced. I need a place to come to, to work. This is my job, and if I’m going to take it seriously, I ought to have an office. If Oli’s not coming back we don’t need the flat, do we? I’d give that up before the studio. Somehow, that clarifies things for me.
And suddenly, as I am drawing furiously, there comes a soft tapping at the door.
‘Natasha, are you there?’ a voice cal s.
I unfurl my legs, stiff and aching from the cold and from being in the same position for so long. I rol my head slowly around my neck, and it crunches satisfyingly.
‘Who’s that?’
‘It’s me,’ says the voice. ‘Mummy.’
What’s she doing here? The hairs on the back of my neck stand up; my hand flies to my throat. ‘Come in,’ I say, after a moment.
She peeks around the door, her dark fringe and long eyelashes appearing first, like a naughty child, her green eyes sparkling. ‘Hel o, darling.
My little girl.’
‘Mum?’ I say, standing up. ‘Wow. I’ve been cal ing you for days. Hel o! What are you doing here?’
‘I was in the area,’ she says. ‘I wanted to see you. I’ve been rather un-loco parentis lately.’ She gives a tinkling laugh. ‘Awful joke. I’m sorry, should I have cal ed?’
‘No, of course not,’ I say, sounding ridiculously formal. My heart is beating fast, and my palms are slick. ‘It’s fine. I’ve been wondering where you were. I haven’t seen you since the funeral and—’
Mum frowns. ‘Wel , I’m here now, aren’t I?’
She advances into the room, arms outstretched. She looks fantastic, as always, skinny jeans tucked into brown suede leather boots, a thick grey cardigan-coat and a long floral scarf wrapped many times round her neck and tied in a knot. Her skin is gleaming, her nails are beautiful, her hair is shining and soft. She wraps me in her arms.
‘Poor girl.’
She squeezes me tight. Her scent is heavy; it makes me nauseous. Suddenly I want to push her away. I’m repulsed by her.
I step back. She clutches my hands, then reaches into her large canvas bag. ‘Bought you a little something,’ she says, handing me a box of tiny, very expensive-looking cheese crackers in a beautiful y printed box.
‘Thanks,’ I say, bemused by this gift, which is so like Mum – there were months when we thought we wouldn’t be able to pay the rent in Bryant Court, but she would think nothing of buying a free-range chicken from Fortnum & Mason for fifteen pounds and then not know how to cook it. I put the biscuits down on the little sink. ‘Have you eaten? Do you want some coffee – or tea?’
‘Tea would be lovely,’ she says, and I suddenly realise what’s been bothering me. She’s nervous too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her nervous.
‘Great.’ We are silent for a moment. We don’t know how to do this. I look around for a distraction. Luckily, I remember Ben has borrowed my teapot.
‘I’l get the teapot.’ I get up. ‘Back in a second.’ She is looking around the room, and she hums blithely in agreement when I say this. My hand is on the door and I say, ‘Mum – we do need to talk, you know.’
Mum’s expression does not change, but there’s something in her eyes that I can’t define. ‘Oh, darling, real y?’
I realise this is a stupid way to begin. ‘Yes, real y. Look, hold on.’
I dash down the corridor and knock on their door. Ben flings it open.
‘Aha,’ he says. ‘Hel o there.’
‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Sorry to disturb you. Have you got my teapot?’
‘Oh, right. Yeah, of course,’ he says. ‘Sorry, forgot to put it back. Hang on a second.’ He comes back with the pot and a teacake, wrapped in blue foil. ‘We’ve got one spare,’ he says. ‘Have it.’
I take the teacake. ‘Thanks.’
‘Was going to drop by later. We’re going for a drink.’
‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘Mum’s just turned up. Soon, though. I haven’t seen you for ages.’
‘I know, you’re busy,’ he says. ‘But it’s good.’ He smiles, and I know he knows. ‘Just checking you’re not rocking at home in a bal by the radiator.’ He scratches his curly hair and it bounces; I smile.
‘Wel , thanks again,’ I say. ‘I’m OK. I’m not going to start gibbering and weeping al over you.’
‘You’re al owed to, you know,’ he says. ‘You’re so in touch with your feelings, Benjamin,’ I say. ‘I’m a cold- hearted bitch, however. So bog off.’
He smiles, and then I hear Tania’s voice in the background. ‘Hi, Nat. How you doing?’
In the back of my buzzing brain this confuses me. I thought she wasn’t working with him any more. Perhaps she’s just popped over to see him, he is her boyfriend after al . ‘I’m good,’ I cal back to her.
‘See you guys later then,’ I say. ‘Coolio. Sorry about tonight.’
