The Other Family

‘Are you OK?’ Scott said.

‘Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m off to Durham in ten minutes.’

‘Oh,’ Scott said. If he didn’t concentrate on focusing, he would see two Tyne Bridges, at least. He wondered if his mother had ever had a hangover.

‘I wanted to catch you,’ Margaret said, ‘before you got to the office.’

‘Are you OK?’ Scott said again. He shut one eye.

‘Perfectly fine,’ Margaret said. ‘Why d’you keep asking? I’m fine, and so is Dawson, and I’m about to drive to Durham to see a new club. I could do with more venues in Durham. Scott, dear—’

‘Yes?’ He closed both eyes.

‘Scott, pet,’ Margaret said. Her voice was warm and he could tel a request was coming. ‘I want you to do something for me.’

‘What—’

‘It’s for you, real y. It’s about the piano. I want you to make a cal , about the piano.’

Scott opened his eyes and made himself focus sternly on a single bridge.

‘Who to?’ he said.

Tamsin worked in the oldest estate agency in Highgate vil age. There were a great many estate agencies up the hil , but the one where Tamsin worked prided itself on its antiquity, and the famous houses – famous both for their beauty and for the celebrity of their inhabitants – that had been bought and sold over the years through their good offices. Tamsin, after failing to get into art school and declining either the cookery course or IT

skil s course suggested to her, had found herself a job in the estate agency, with which she declared herself perfectly satisfied. It was, basical y, a reception job with the added task of arranging al the appointments for viewings of the properties, and it was becoming plain to the five partners of the company that Tamsin possessed the kind of competent attention to detail, as wel as an admirably together appearance, that made her, especial y in the present perilous times, good value in every sense. Rather than promote her, or increase her pay, the partners tacitly decided that the initial tactic to prevent her beginning to think that she might be better off somewhere else was to flatter and thank her. Tamsin, deftly managing the office diary, and answering the telephone and enquiries in person, to perfection, was wel aware that the smiling compliments that came her way on a daily basis were not without ulterior motive. In return, she declined to reassure the partners that, for the moment, aged twenty-one, with a boyfriend who was the definition of steady and the recent loss of her father and the effect of that loss on both her mother and sisters, she had no intention of going anywhere.

Al the same, it was nice to be treated as valuable. It was nice to have the attention she paid to hair and clothes obviously appreciated. It was nice to know that, as far as representing the firm was concerned, she was giving a good impression. Al these reassurances were contributing to Tamsin’s sense that, amidst al the family grief and insecurity and anxiety, she was emerging as the one member of the family who could be relied on to think straight even in the midst of emotional turmoil. And so, returning home one evening from work, and walking into the empty kitchen to find Amy’s phone jerking its little jewel ed dolphin about and ringing, unattended, on the kitchen table, Tamsin did not hesitate to pick it up and, after a cursory glance revealed an unfamiliar number on the screen, say crisply into it, ‘Amy’s phone.’

There was silence at the other end.

‘Hel o?’ Tamsin said, stil using her office inflection. ‘Hel o? This is Amy’s phone.’

She waited another second or two and then a voice, a man’s voice with a distinct North-East accent, said, ‘It’s Scott here. I was hoping to speak to Amy.’

‘Scott!’ Tamsin said in her normal voice.

‘Yes—’

‘Why are you ringing? Why are you ringing Amy?’

‘Because,’ Scott said, ‘she’s the only one I’ve spoken to.’

‘When?’

‘When what—’

‘When,’ Tamsin demanded, ‘did you speak to her?’

‘Look,’ Scott said, more bel igerently, ‘I’m not bothering her. And I’m not saying anything that might get her into trouble. I rang her because we’ve spoken and I’ve got her number. Who are you, anyway?’

‘Tamsin,’ Tamsin said frostily.

‘Ah Tamsin.’

‘And what did you want to say to Amy?’

There was a sigh the other end of the line.

‘I didn’t want to say anything to Amy. In particular. I just wanted to ask one of you something, and Amy was the one I’d spoken to.’

Tamsin found she was standing at her ful height, as if she was in court, giving evidence.

‘What did you want to ask?’

‘Wel ,’ Scott said, ‘I want to ask when it would be convenient to col ect the piano.’

‘ What?’

‘When would it be—’

‘I heard you!’ Tamsin shrieked.