Page 28

It was odd being back in the flat. Having been vacant ever since Amber’s trip to hospital a few days prior, it had settled back into itself; walking in, everything seemed different, as if it were somewhere that belonged to a stranger.

Becky started by switching on all the lights, then opening all the windows just a little, ignoring the fumes and the traffic noise, hoping to let some of the staleness out and welcome life into the place which felt barren and unloved.

But it was no use: one way or another, she’d be leaving this place soon and already it had stopped feeling like home.

Three weeks ago, when she’d stepped out of the front door, she’d been a different person.

Twitchy and stressed and desperate to prove herself at any cost. It was only now that she’d rested and gained a little perspective that she could admit that she probably had been suffering from burnout, or something close to it.

An image of herself hurling a laptop across the office space, face contorted, phone clutched in a fist, flitted into and out of her mind. Had that been her?

Tomorrow she would be going into the office, meeting with HR.

Starting to smooth the path to her return.

Convince them that all traces of burnout had left the building.

And they really had, she realised, looking at herself in her wardrobe mirror.

She looked different. Healthier. It was more than just the fake, healthy glow delivered by additional time in the sun, and the fact that she’d started to wear her shoulder-length blonde hair loose more often than not; it was something about her eyes, the set of her mouth.

The way that she could look at her reflection and smile.

She opened her wardrobe and ran her fingers over the rack of expensive corporate wear that she’d accumulated over the past few years.

Neat, tailored trousers and skirts. Fitted jackets.

Heels that were just high enough without being overly showy.

Nothing particularly distinctive, but everything smart and orderly and on point.

In these clothes she became someone else entirely – part of a collective whole.

There was a comfort in that, somehow. In everything being the same day in, day out.

Predictable and manageable – and not like life in France at all.

There was noise suddenly in the downstairs flat.

Just a slight scraping as someone moved some furniture or dragged a chair nearer to the TV.

But it reminded her that below her feet was another person, living the same sort of life, in the same sort of flat.

And below them, another. And, to that end, another person above in the top flat.

And she thought how odd it felt to be part of a building where people lived on top of one another, stacked a convenient distance from their various offices, with wardrobes probably similar to hers.

And how tomorrow most of them would probably be donning their outfits, slipping onto the Tube and becoming part of the blood in the veins of London.

Part of the machinery.

She shook her head. Of course it was going to feel a little odd after spending time in France with the space, the freedom to work when she chose, to explore, to get a little sun and perspective.

But nobody could serve coffee forever. It had been a holiday.

And holidays were always better than real life.

Here, she had family. Her mother, but also Amber.

The girl who’d held her hand at playtime.

Who’d got in trouble for giggling in assembly with her.

The girl she’d grown up with, laughed with, argued with, who was so essential because she knew Becky almost as well as she knew herself.

The heart of her. And if her being in France had in some way contributed to Amber’s situation, all the sunshine, freedom, happiness, fledgling romance and body-quivering orgasms were not worth paying that price.

She took a deep breath, sat on the bed and rang her mother, putting the phone on speaker and leaning back against her feather pillows, her body aching from the stress of rushing and flying and running down hospital corridors in a state.

‘Rebecca!’ her mother said immediately, answering within two rings.

‘Hi, Mum.’

‘So, how’s your friend? How’s Amber?’

‘Oh. She’s OK, I think. They’re running a few tests. They think that it was stress-induced.’

Her mother let out a breath. ‘Well, thank heavens. Such a lovely girl.’

‘Yes. Yes, she is.’

‘And you?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Do you have… plans?’

Her mother was nothing if not transparent, but for once she had an answer that she knew would please her. ‘Yes. I’m going into the office tomorrow. Meeting HR. Start the wheels turning.’

‘For…?’

‘For going back to work, of course.’

Her mother’s sigh exploded breathily over the speaker. ‘Well, butter my biscuits! Darling, I am so very proud of you.’

The ‘p’ word was more surprising than the odd expression of relief that had preceded it. ‘You are?’

There was a pause.

‘As long as you’re definitely well enough.’

This was fresh ground. ‘What makes you say that?’ Becky asked.

‘Well, this whole thing with Amber. I know her circumstances are different, but I suppose it did make me realise how dangerous stress can be.’ Her mother paused, took a deep breath. ‘I want what’s best for you. But not at any price. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Daddy always said I pushed you too hard. But it’s my way. I push myself.’ There was a slight wobble of vulnerability in Mum’s voice.

‘I know, Mum. And it’s fine. Honestly. I’m well. I’m ready to go back.’

There was a deep sigh, then her mother seemed to step right back into her usual role. ‘Well, that’s wonderful news. I must admit I was a little worried that Maud’s ridiculous philosophy might have started to rub off on you.’

‘Mum! Maud’s lovely, she…’

‘Fiddlesticks! That woman gave up a career at Archway. Top law firm in the city at that time. Amazing for her generation. Almost unheard of. And then she went on holiday and never came back! It was outrageous! Threw it all away.’

Becky pictured the café, the quiet but friendly town. Maud’s photography career that had taken her around the world. ‘I don’t think she sees it that way.’

‘Well, of course not. She’s going to double down now.’

‘It’s OK, you know, Mum. It’s OK that Maud chose a different life to you, to us. She hasn’t hurt anyone.’

A silence. ‘Well, you’re wrong on that count.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh nothing. It’s just… when I was growing up, she was more than an aunt to me.

My mother wasn’t well. Even when I was tiny.

She was in a lot of pain, didn’t have time to really do very much with me.

But Maud did. Maud really took me under her wing.

And when Mummy died…’ She took a deep breath.

‘Well, I always thought of her as a mother figure to me. And then she… well, she left me and didn’t come back. ’ Her mother’s voice cracked a little.

‘Oh Mum.’

‘It’s ridiculous, of course. I was a grown woman by then.

Had met your father. And there was an open invitation for us to go over whenever we wanted.

I tried to let go of that childish feeling of…

I don’t know. Abandonment. And I did! You remember, we went every year.

And back then, it wasn’t as easy or as cheap to do that as it is now. ’

‘But then you stopped.’

‘Then we stopped.’

‘Why? Why did you? Because of the things she said about education?’

‘Partly, but it was much more than that. It won’t make sense to you probably. You clearly love Maud. You’ll take her side, no doubt.’

‘Mum! I love you too, you know.’ And she did, Becky realised. Despite the fact that sometimes talking to her mother was an effort, despite the thinly veiled criticism and completely out-in-the-open pressure her mum always brought to the conversation, she did love her.

‘Well, all right. She started trying to take your father and you from me as well.’

‘What?’

‘We’d been going for more than a decade by that time.

And it was always rather wonderful. A break from the routine.

Then your father started talking about buying a property.

Moving out there. You’d have loved the idea, I knew.

You always became a little tearaway during our holidays – painting, getting dirty, rushing about with Maud.

You’d had a tough time at school that year – a shouty teacher, a couple of bullies in the class – and when you’d got a bit teary about it, she’d told you that education wasn’t everything. And suddenly I could see it.’

‘See what?’

‘Everything I’d worked for, everything I’d built for myself. My family, you. Yes – my work. I do love what I do, you know, Rebecca. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved even if nobody else appreciates it.’

‘Mum! I appreciate it! I do.’

‘Well, good,’ her mother sniffed loudly. ‘Anyway, at the time, I felt as if Maud had abandoned me all over again. And now she was stealing you and Daddy too.’

‘Oh Mum, she’s not like that.’

‘Not intentionally perhaps,’ her mother admitted. ‘But what she suggested threatened to break up everything I held dear. My career. And my family too.’

‘Did you ever tell her how you felt?’

‘Not exactly. We just sort of… stopped going. Booked different holidays. Let things slide. Then Daddy died and…’ Her mother’s voice shook. ‘I just couldn’t face her after that.’

‘Why not? Surely she would have been supportive? Looked after you?’

‘That’s as may be. But I couldn’t bear the idea that she might think it was my fault.’

‘Your fault?’

‘Yes. That if Daddy had moved to France, relaxed more, he’d still be with us.’

‘Oh Mum. Maud would never say that. And it’s not true, you know that.’

‘Do I? Does anyone?’

Becky felt a lump in her throat. ‘So you blamed Maud?’

‘No. I just couldn’t bear her… judgement.’

‘You were afraid?’

There was a sharp intake of breath as her mother crushed down the emotions from her past.

‘Heavens, Rebecca! Not afraid! What rot! Anyway, it’s all in the past now. No good dredging that up. You’re back, you haven’t decided to throw your life away. You’re healthy. We can carry on as before.’

‘Yes. I’m back. But you know, Mum, if I had decided to stay,’ Becky ventured, ‘it could have been a good thing. It was nice having… space. To think. To find myself. Maud wasn’t trying to ruin my life or anything.’

‘Poppycock! Finding yourself! Nonsense. I can tell you who you are right now, Rebecca. You are a young woman with a promising future, is what you are.’

‘Maybe.’

‘There’s no maybe about it.’

‘And a happy future?’

‘One and the same,’ her mother said firmly, all traces of vulnerability gone.

After the call ended, Becky felt drained. Leaning up against the headboard, she replayed everything in her mind. Her mum was hurt, that much was clear, but so stubborn, there was no obvious way of breaking down the barriers she’d put up between herself and Maud.

Sighing, she chose a safe outfit of black trousers and jacket, hung them over the back of her chair ready for the morning and, suddenly fatigued and aware how late it was, climbed between the cold sheets of her bed and tried to settle herself to sleep.

Her dreams were tumultuous and confusing; Maud at the café, Amber in her hospital bed. Her mother, chasing her down the aisles of a supermarket for no understandable reason. She rushed into consciousness to find it was just 4a.m., but knew that she wouldn’t sleep any more.

The night was just giving way to the first signs of daylight – a lighter grey hovered in the air.

The city continued to move below her, almost at the rate it had in the daytime.

Joggers pounded the pavements, people drove to work early.

Nothing ever seemed to stop. She loved this about London and hated it in equal measure.

But she had to put all thoughts of France behind her for the moment. In a few hours she’d step into it, be pulled back into her old life. And perhaps that was for the best. This was where she belonged.