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If Margot and Donald are surprised to see Dad and me marching through the kitchen and out of the back door, they’re both tactful enough to conceal it. We cross the courtyard and make our way towards the barn where Gerald has been working on the Land Rover in his spare time. Neither of us are surprised to find him in there; what does surprise me is how little of the car is left. The bodywork is nowhere to be seen, the engine is on a bench in the corner, and the chassis is sitting on blocks.
‘Evening, Gerald. How is it going?’ Dad asks.
‘Good evening, sir. It’s a bit of a mess, but I’ll get there. Like a lot of these cars, it’s had a hard life and not been looked after properly. Did you ever try to use the low-range gearbox, Sophie?’
‘The what?’
‘I thought as much. It has a low-range gearbox, but the mechanism to engage it was completely seized. You only had two-wheel drive as well. They’re tough as old boots, these things, but they do need a little bit of TLC from time to time.’ He strokes the chassis affectionately as he speaks.
‘Where’s the rest of it?’ I can’t help asking.
‘I’ve sent the body off to a mate of mine who is a panel beater. I don’t want it immaculate, but I’d like it to be considerably more Land Rover-shaped than it was when you had it.’
‘Just so you know, only one of those dents was caused by me,’ I warn him, before he takes that line of conversation any further. ‘I had a slight disagreement with a gatepost early on, before I’d got used to the size of it.’
‘So what’s the plan?’ Dad asks Gerald. According to Mum, Dad was always tinkering with his cars in the old days, trying to make them faster or louder. It’s obviously an interest he still has, because he and Gerald launch into a lengthy conversation about complete strip-downs, nut and bolt restorations, and a load of other stuff that I don’t understand. I think the gist of it is that he’s taking it apart completely, and then he’s going to fix everything that’s wrong with it before putting it back together. I’m pleased that someone’s showing it some love, but I’m also starting to get a little bored and fidgety.
‘We’ll leave you to it, Gerald,’ Dad says eventually. ‘I look forward to seeing it when you’ve finished.’
‘I’ll be over at your place first thing to put the curtains up, Sophie,’ Gerald tells me as we make our way towards the door.
‘Thanks, Gerald. I really appreciate everything you’ve done,’ I reply.
‘I’d like to get him a gift, to say thank you,’ I mention to Dad, as we’re crossing the courtyard back to the house. ‘I don’t know what he likes, though.’
‘Your mother will know. She organises Christmas presents for all the staff. We’ll ask her. Now, I’ve got a bottle of Champagne on ice. It seems only fair to toast your new start.’
* * *
I’m delighted to see that the sun is shining and it looks like it’s going to be a glorious day when I open the curtains the next morning. After breakfast, I throw my overnight bag in the car, kiss Mum and Dad goodbye, and set off. I open the sunroof and sing along to my favourite playlist as I follow the satnav through Crowborough and Tunbridge Wells, before picking up the dual carriageway to take me to my new home. When I get there, Gerald has already hung the curtains and he’s in the middle of assembling the desk in the second bedroom, now my study. I dump my clothes in the main bedroom, put the KitchenAid mixer on the worktop in the kitchen, and head straight back out to the supermarket.
I’m still feeling upbeat and humming to myself quietly as I wander around, picking up the items on my list. I haven’t had to cook for myself since leaving James, so I spent some time deciding exactly what I was going to eat for each meal over the first week and writing down the ingredients. I reckon I’ll be back in the swing of it after a few days and next week’s shop will be much easier. The trolley is surprisingly full by the time I get to the checkout and I wonder whether I’ve overestimated the amount of food I need, but I’m committed now, so I smile brightly at the assistant and start loading my bags as if I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve included a bottle of whisky for Gerald, as Mum told me that’s his guilty pleasure, plus a bottle of gin, some tonic, and a few bottles of wine for me, but I’m still surprised when the bill comes to just over two hundred pounds. James would have had a coronary if I’d spent that much on a weekly shop, but I keep reminding myself that I’m starting from scratch and a lot of the things I’ve bought will last much longer than a week.
Gerald is pretty much done when I get back, but he still insists on helping me to unload the car and is very pleased with his bottle of whisky. He helps me unpack the shopping, and then we walk round the flat together so he can check that everything is exactly how I wanted it. Suddenly, I feel a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach that I haven’t felt since I was a child. It’s nervousness mixed with a little bit of dread, knowing that he’s going to go very soon and I’ll be on my own for the first time in years. I used to have it at the beginning of every term and the end of every exeat when I was at prep school; there would always be crumpets for tea before Mum and I climbed into the car to take me back, and I’d struggle to eat them, even though I love them normally. I can still remember all the landmarks that I used to look out for on the journey. The first one was a house on the corner of one of the junctions where we turned. I have no idea why I chose that house and not any of the others we passed on the way. Every time we passed it, the feeling in my stomach would ramp up a notch because we were that bit closer to our destination. Then we would pass the sign indicating the village where the school was, followed by the turn into the driveway. The smell of polish and expensive perfume in the hallway and the noise created by a hundred or so parents dropping off their daughters was the final indicator of my impending abandonment, and I frequently had to fight back tears. It was ridiculous, really, as I quite enjoyed being at school and would throw myself into it quite happily once Mum was gone. It all comes back to me so clearly, despite the fact that I’m an adult and this situation is completely different.
Eventually, Gerald declares himself satisfied, hands me the key he’s been using, and we walk down the stairs together. The parking spaces are very generous here, so I’ve tucked my car behind his pick-up, but I need to move it to let him out. Once he’s gone, I park the car back in the space and let myself back into the flat. Suddenly, for no reason that I can fathom, I’m crying. The tears build into huge sobs, and I sit on the sofa and just let it all out. I’m not even really sure what I’m crying for; it’s a mixture of facing the future alone, mourning the years wasted on a man who didn’t love me as he should have done, and being in a strange place where I don’t know anyone. I’m desperately homesick even though this is now my home, and the paradox of that just makes me cry harder. Maybe I’ve been holding it all in recently, putting on a brave face, but I don’t think I have been. Now that I’m here, in the private space that I’ve craved for so long, everything just seems overwhelming.
I don’t know how long I sit sobbing on the sofa, but eventually the tears start to slow, and I set about unpacking my suitcases. I still have the odd sniffle, but the activity gives me something else to focus on for a while. I’m conscious that I’ve got a whole weekend to get through before I’m back in the office and will have work to distract me, and that feels very daunting at the moment. The desire to jump back in the car and spend the weekend with Mum and Dad is pretty strong, but I remind myself that I’m never going to be able to start over properly if I keep rushing back to their house every time I’m a bit lonely.
Once I’ve unpacked, I treat myself to a chilled glass of wine, put on some soothing music, and decide to run myself a hot bath. The en-suite only has a shower, so I wrap myself in my dressing gown and pad across to the main bathroom. I try to empty my mind as I lie back in the bath, enjoying the warmth of the water and listening to the music, but another unwelcome thought has broken in and I can’t get rid of it.
Eventually, I can’t take any more. I climb out of the bath, dry myself, and stand naked in front of the mirror. I let my eyes wander up and down my reflection as I ask myself the question, ‘Is this it? Will any man ever see or touch my body again?’ James and I are patently over, but I still can’t imagine being naked with anyone else. Despite Di’s jokes about my neighbour, even the idea of going on a date fills me with horror. Maybe this is it, and I’m going to be single for the rest of my life, dying alone surrounded by angry cats. That thought is too depressing and I take a swig of wine to wash it away.
One day at a time, I tell myself. Concentrate on getting through the weekend and worry about the big things later.
21
I wake in a much more positive frame of mind, thankfully. My new bed is incredibly comfortable and, after a pretty successful supper of salmon with new potatoes and broccoli, washed down with some more wine, I slept like a baby. I quickly learn that the power shower has to be treated with respect, as the jets are almost strong enough to skin you alive if you turn it up all the way. I’ve decided to treat myself to breakfast at the café downstairs before heading out for a proper explore of the area. It’s another bright day and the sunlight pours into the flat when I open the curtains. I let myself out through the original front door into the communal stairway. I haven’t seen the man from the flat opposite again and, after the awkwardness of our last encounter, I’m not sure whether I should knock on his door and introduce myself properly or not. We never had anything to do with our neighbours in London, apart from the occasional row if someone played music too loud or too late at night, but maybe people are friendlier here? He certainly seemed like he was trying to be friendly, in his excruciating way.
The café is jam-packed, but the young woman behind the counter assures me that a table will come free soon if I’m prepared to wait. It’s not as if I have anything else to do, so I tell her that’s fine and, after five minutes or so, an elderly couple vacate their table and I take their place. The menu features every type of breakfast dish, from omelettes and eggs Benedict through to a full English breakfast. I think the full English is probably a bit much for me – I can see another customer attacking theirs with gusto and it is certainly generous – so I wander up to the counter and order eggs Benedict and a flat white coffee.
‘Got any special plans for the day?’ the assistant asks conversationally as she’s writing down my order and ringing it up on the till.
‘I don’t know yet,’ I reply. ‘I just moved here, so I thought I might explore, try to get a feel for the place and learn where everything is.’
‘That’s nice. Whereabouts are you living?’
‘Literally upstairs, in one of the flats above the photographic studio. I moved in yesterday.’
