Lilly heard him sigh.
‘Please let me in, to talk to you properly, or if not me, then someone from the council, or one of the social welfare team, one of our accountants or one of the project managers for the build, or, as I suggested, Mr Portland himself, any number of people who want to see this ... this stand-off brought to a swift and mutually satisfactory conclusion.’
Stand-off!It made it sound like the Wild West, like she was some gun-toting renegade holed up in the saloon while the townsfolk quaked and cowered, waiting to see who’d shoot first. This, too, she rather liked, knowing if her old friend Bertie Barnes were here right now he would love her for it! But it wasn’t the Wild West. It was SW8, Vauxhall, London. The place where she had been born. The flat she had been born in and the only home she had ever known. And it wasn’t the townsfolk who were quaking in their boots, but rather the local authorities and the huge organisations who wanted to get their grubby mitts on the money they’d trouser once the deal was done.
‘Look,’ he repeated, ‘it’s not that we don’t have sympathy for your situation, nor that I, personally, don’t understand your affection for this place—’
‘It’s not about affection!’ Again she interjected. His words made it sound trite. Emotions were a part of it, yes, but it was so much more than that. The people were gone, the stories of her childhood along with them; all that was left was this flat, the bricks and mortar that represented her entire history. ‘And it’s not about money, not for me anyway. It’s about someone, a stranger, coming along, taking a fancy for something that doesn’t belong to them, something that has never belonged to them, and deciding to take it away. And that doesn’t strike me as right! How can it be right? People should not be able to take anything without permission! What next, taking watches off the wrists of others because they take a liking to them? Grabbing computers from someone’s bag rather than saving up to get their own? Forcing people to hand over the keys to their snazzy cars because they’d rather have a Porsche than ride a bike?’
Joshua Vaughan laughed; she heard his throaty chuckle. ‘That’s exactly what happens all over this city, every day!’ he said. ‘People get their watches, laptops and cars taken.’
It was her turn to laugh. ‘Exactly, Mr Vaughan,exactly!Finally it seems we might be on the same page!’
‘Miss Cooper, I ...’ He paused, and then seemed to think better of prolonging this discussion. ‘We will be in touch.’
She saw the flap of the letterbox fall shut, and then came the sound of his shoes tip-tapping down the beautiful polished concrete stairs as he made his retreat.
‘I think I won that one.’ She smiled at her reflection in the small mirror by the front door, knowing it was a story she would relish telling Clodagh later, how she’d refused to let him in, and he’dbeen reduced to shouting through the letterbox, no doubt leaving him feeling, not for the first time, like a bit of a chump.
Then came the old stir of guilt in her veins. Joshua Vaughan wasn’t the enemy, but simply their messenger, as he had quite rightly pointed out, only doing his job. She resolved to be a bit nicer to him next time. Knowing there would definitely be a next time.
Lilly sat down at the kitchen table with the intention of resuming her breakfast. But with matters more pressing than her stomach’s growl of hunger, she opened up her rather worn, red leather address book, running her finger down the page until she found the number for Denzel Bashington. She had known Denzel for decades, one of Bertie’s crowd, and even though he was long retired, and now lived in a lovely garden apartment in Hampstead with his husband, Juan, he was still the only person she turned to for legal advice.
‘Denzel.’
‘Dah-ling!’
She smiled at the way he had always greeted her, greeted everyone! Lilly explained the dire situation and listened as her old friend gave it some thought.
‘The trouble is that these large developers have more money, time and resources than you. They could tie you up in legal knots that would be costly, and you could end up with nothing. They are quite powerful. It’s a David and Goliath battle that I’m afraid, in this instance, David nearly always loses. Even if I was still in practice, I would advise you to take the money, take as much money as you can, and run. They won’t budge for you, darling Bob. I’m sure that’s not what you wanted to hear.’
It was in fact the very worst news. She felt her stomach drop to her boots, now entirely without appetite. How could she possibly run from here? This place that meant more to her than she could say, herhome ...
‘Not really, but I appreciate your honesty, Denzel.’
‘Always. See you soon, dahling.’
‘Yep, see you soon.’
This was how they always ended a call, even though they rarely saw each other. It felt nice, the promise; a reminder that there was still some of the old crowd in the city.
The survivors.
1972 – aged 16
The man had a brother, Christopher, who played the euphonium in the same orchestra as her dad. This was how the introduction had come about. Lilly was unsure about the whole idea. I mean, yes, she wanted a job, needed a job, but this sounded a little highbrow and not at all what she had envisaged. Plus it came with its own pressure – the fact that he was connected to her dad, even loosely; she’d never want to let him down, embarrass him.
She had been hoping to maybe work atHMVon Oxford Street, thinking that might be cool, and any discount on records was not to be sniffed at, or even a boutique in Carnaby Street, somewhere likeLady Jane. Her dad, however, seemed keen for her to take advantage of his connection.
‘Some of those places in the West End attract all sorts. You can’t be too careful.’ She had no idea what ‘all sorts’ meant, and chose not to confess that she was eager to find out. ‘Bertie is a legend and a gent. If he takes you on, and there’s no guarantee he will’ – her dad extended his index finger – ‘it might just be the making of you.’
This in turn invited another question: was he saying she was unmade now, and what the heck didthatmean?
Lilly went along for the interview, half hoping she didn’t get it, half hoping she did. And having stopped en route atMoody’s– thecafé on the corner – now stood before her potential employer with a hot, bitter espresso sloshing in her veins, which had made her feel a bit fizzy. In a good way.
‘So, Chris said you live on the banks of the river, you lucky old thing!’
‘Yes, in Vauxhall.’
