Authors: Grace Wynne-Jones
I gaze at a sculpture of a white horse with large, knowing eyes.
‘I know it sounds odd but sometimes I believed that if I were more lovable these things wouldn’t have happened. Maybe I was a fallen woman all along and Joseph had sensed it.’
‘Oh DeeDee don’t say that!’ I protest.
‘But then I looked around me and saw so many other women...so many other people who felt just as isolated as I did. And I saw that, in some ways, I had always been an actress. I hadn’t let people know the sorrows I felt. I hadn’t known where to place them in myself.’
I watch a candle on one of the tables flickering and dancing in its own soft light.
‘When I was pregnant I lived in a shabby flat near here and I hated it. The lino in the kitchen was torn and there were ants in the sugar...’
I clutch my mug more tightly.
‘Big buses roared by outside and it kept raining that winter. And the table in the sitting room used to make me cry.’
‘The table?’
‘Yes’ she smiles. ‘It was rickety and stained and small. It rocked back and forth whenever I tried to use it. It seemed to me that life should have given me a better table.’
She laughs. ‘Those first months in London felt very dark. I couldn’t stand the shadows in myself. I had always wanted the light. And then one day I went into a dingy cafe called La Dolce Vita and the man behind the counter smiled at me and gave me a slice of banoffi pie with my coffee. I hadn’t asked for it and he didn’t want me to pay for it. He must have seen my eyes were puffy from tears.’ She nods a greeting to some new customers.
‘It was the best pie I had ever tasted. And as I sat there I noticed that though the cafe was dingy and low lit, when the sun shone through the window it seemed brighter than usual. I liked the mixture of it. And suddenly I didn’t mind that my life was such a mixture too because I knew that if I didn’t learn from my pain I wouldn’t learn what brought me joy. That was how beauty entered my heart Sally. On a damp November day.’
Her words feel so soft and translucent. Like water. ‘What happened then?’
‘I went into a paint shop and bought turquoise paint. I went home and painted the table. And then I decorated it with primroses...the kind of wild primroses I used to love as a girl. I got a small piece of wood and put it under the table leg that was shorter than all the others. It was no longer a shabby cast-off. It looked really pretty. A real feature.’
‘A statement object’ I smile, recalling one of Greta’s favourite expressions.
‘I started to buy small pieces of second-hand furniture and I decorated them too. I put up photos of them in La Dolce Vita announcing they were for sale. I didn’t make much money from them, but some arty folk bought them and I made new friends. I needed that. They actually seemed excited about the huge improbable bump in my stomach. And suddenly the baby wasn’t just Joseph’s...he was mine too.’
The glow in her eyes caresses the space between us. ‘That’s how my life changed Sally. Not through some great love affair or adventure or being spotted by a Hollywood producer. I simply decided to paint a table.’
We both sit in a silence that is somehow unaffected by the clinking cups around us, the laughter and tapping rain on the window.
‘I still have that table. Alfredo used to love it.’
‘How did you meet him?’
‘In a small record store. We were both looking for old American jazz records. I was determinedly single, but we got talking anyway. And suddenly I was sharing all sorts of intimate details. He knew how to lure them out of me.’ She chuckles. ‘He didn’t look like the sort of man who loved jazz. He seemed a bit plump and ordinary actually, but he had a huge smile that was like sunshine. If I hadn’t met him in that shop I probably wouldn’t have even noticed him. But I liked that he wasn’t quite what he seemed. He was special in a way I wouldn’t have known how to see before.’
‘Were… were you happy with Alfredo?’
‘Yes, I loved him deeply. He was soft and kind and wonderful
with Craig. He helped me start this place. Before that, I worked in a theatrical costumier’s. I loved meeting theatrical folk – though I didn’t become a professional actress. I did a lot of amateur shows, though. I especially loved the old musicals.’
I drink in this information; and then I suddenly realise she mentioned someone called Craig. ‘Who’s Craig?’ I ask, almost casually.
‘My son. Joseph’s son.’ DeeDee looks into my eyes. ‘I kept him,
you see. I didn’t have him adopted. Actually, he’s the one who insisted that I meet you. He said it was time for me to tell the truth again. And this time it might be believed.’
Chapter
Forty-One
‘She kept the baby.
He’s called Craig,’ I tell Nathaniel. ‘He was the one who persuaded her to see me.’ I try to match
Nathaniel’s long, loping strides. We are rushing to catch a train to
the airport. ‘He said it was important that someone in the family
knew the truth – though, of course, I knew it already because of the notebook.’
Nathaniel grabs my elbow. We are at a busy intersection,
though I hardly notice the traffic. My head is full of DeeDee and
her story, and the seeming miracle of our meeting. ‘Craig manages
Extravaganza now, but he’s also involved in some kind of peace
movement. They have workshops at the…’ I wonder if I should call it a café or a shop. ‘They have workshops at the café every Thursday evening. They bring people from different cultures
together and get them to share recipes. It was DeeDee’s idea; she
says, whatever culture or belief system a person comes from, everyone enjoys a slap-up meal.’
‘Very impressive,’ Nathaniel says distractedly. ‘Do you have any change on you?’
We are at the ticket counter of the train station. I delve into my bag. Thank goodness I went to that bank machine when
Nathaniel and I were traipsing around Chelsea; since I hadn’t had
any lunch, I felt it was perfectly permissible to buy a largish bar
of chocolate. I hand him an English fiver and some pound coins.
He extracts some coins from his own wallet, leans towards the gruff-looking man behind the glass partition and buys our train tickets.
‘Whew, we had just enough to cover the fares,’ he says as we
walk quickly away. ‘Come on, Sally!’ He grabs my hand. His feels
warm and strong and very nice.
‘Oh, thank God!’ I exclaim, when we are actually sitting on the
train. We are surrounded by people who are catching planes – they’re virtually hugging their luggage – and others who have probably been working late and appear to be somewhat pissed
off. And there is a small scattering of unsavoury-looking teenage
boys holding beer cans and bragging loudly about their
misdemeanours. The regular travellers on this route are glancing
warily at their watches and then staring resignedly out the
window; they clearly don’t believe the train is actually going to
leave at the appointed time. They have the look of stoical
veterans.
At last the train judders and starts its journey, and I find myself
thinking that, if this were New York, I would be far more excited
and impressed by my circumstances. But this is London and it’s
familiar to me. I get a thrill when I see the great sights of the city,
but I’m also acquainted with its irritations and routines. What
makes it special to me now is that it’s DeeDee’s home. Big cities
need people like DeeDee to give them warmth and humanity, to
help create little villages, within the sprawl, where people can belong – places that feel like home.
‘I didn’t meet Craig,’ I tell Nathaniel. ‘He wasn’t there. But I saw a photo of him. He looks rather handsome and dignified, in
a casual kind of way. He’s in his fifties. He used to teach Italian
in a secondary school – his stepfather was Italian, you see.
DeeDee married an Italian man called Alfredo in her forties. They were very happy together, but he passed away a few years ago. He
left her a lovely villa in Tuscany.’
‘Goodness, you managed to extract a great deal of information.’
Nathaniel smiles.
‘Once she started talking, it just spilt out of her.’ I sigh contentedly. ‘It’s so nice to finally have a relative who really enjoys talking about things.’
‘I thought April had suddenly got rather fond of that, too,’ Nathaniel comments wryly.
Oh, God, I’d almost forgotten about April! I take out my
mobile phone and check my messages. There is a call from
Gervaise, saying he hopes I’ll phone to discuss wall-mounted coffee
units as soon as possible. There is also a call from Fiona, asking
whether I think she should wear a hat to the christening. Erika
has phoned to reveal, in outraged tones, that Lionel won’t accept
her refusal to meet him for coffee; in fact, he is insisting on
turning up at her flat with a Chinese takeaway that very evening.
She wants me to call around and help her persuade him that his
affection for her is entirely misplaced. And, of course, there is a
call from Diarmuid about furniture – in this case, a pine cabinet that he thinks could fit into my kitchen if he made it slightly smaller, which he says he would be happy to do. Diarmuid has
never felt that I have enough storage space in my kitchen, and he’s
right; but I really don’t want him dashing around with his tool-belt, measuring things. I might just possibly spit at him.
I insist on buying Nathaniel champagne on the plane home. ‘To
dear friends who find lost great-aunts.’ I clink his glass happily.
His blue eyes shine with pleasure. ‘Well, one does what one can
to help.’ He tips the slender glass back and drinks it all in one
gulp. ‘Finding a lost great-aunt is thirsty work – though not quite
as difficult as looking after a highly opinionated mongrel called
Fred.’ He sighs dramatically. ‘Apparently he’s just buried Greta’s
best gold bracelet.’
‘Oh, no!’ I reach out and touch his arm, in a very friendly though entirely platonic manner.
‘Yes, she phoned me just before I arrived to drag you away from DeeDee and take you to the airport. She was having a real hissy fit.’ He gives me a look of mock misery.
‘Oh, you poor thing.’ I decide not to touch his arm again, even
though I would very much like to. ‘I’ll help you find the bracelet. We’ll have to hire a metal detector. We’ll… we’ll scour the coast
line if we need to.’
‘It’s probably just in the back garden.’ He grins at me cheerfully.
‘Though I rather like the idea of scouring the coastline with you,
Sally. Shall we do it anyway? Who knows what we might find?’ He
is leaning close. I feel his breath on my cheek. The champagne is
going straight to my head. I need peanuts or crisps or at least a biscuit. I try to catch the attention of one of the air hostesses.
‘Here.’ Nathaniel nudges me, and I find myself accepting a packet of cheese-flavoured corn chips. ‘I bought these for just
such an occasion.’ He smiles at me wryly. ‘It hasn’t escaped my
notice that, when you’re hungry, you can get very… very insistent
on finding nourishment.’
He is clearly referring to the crêperie incident. I consider
explaining, once again, that I hadn’t had lunch and had got tired
of traipsing around London streets in what seemed an entirely aimless manner, but I decide not to mention this. Instead I open
the packet and start crunching the contents gratefully. He isn’t to
know that I don’t want to become too tipsy in case I declare that
I love him or something equally stupid.