in music theory when he needed the extra help.
‘So that’s where you get it from!’ Bridget had the pleased expression of someone finding the missing puzzle piece. Was it a sign of a snobbish assumption that a girl from Essex wouldn’t be in classical music without some extraordinary explanation? That was too common for Jenny to waste time feeling offended. TOWIE had a lot to answer for. She’d be more offended if it were because she was mixed race – a fact that still surprised some old timers who didn’t recognize that society had changed. She chose to counter it by keeping on turning up in the second desk of violins. At the beginning of her career, with all that she had been battling, each rehearsal, every concert, had been an act of courage and defiance, but it had got a little easier as time passed. The music made it worth it and one day no one would question her right to be there.
‘You must tell your mother that she’s welcome to visit you at any time. And your father, of course. As you’ll see there’s plenty of room in yours.’ Bridget guided Jenny into a pretty front bedroom on the first floor, explaining the top floor was just attics. ‘You have a bathroom through there all to yourself.’
With a swoop of joy like a lark ascending, Jenny saw heaven before her. It was a huge house with only three people and she wouldn’t have to share even so much as a bath mat!
‘The mattress is new. Do you like the four-poster? I know it’s a little twee but Kris was always amused by it. I thought it might do for a daughter one day but sadly we weren’t blessed with one.’
It was perhaps a little early for Bridget to be telling her this kind of personal information but Jenny was used to the strange effect her silence had on people. They felt obliged to fill the gap and ended up divulging more than they planned. Sometimes that was very awkward, almost a burden as she shouldered the secrets of others; at other times, like now, she didn’t mind. They would be living together after all. Bridget was right: it was a bedroom fit for the missing daughter. The wooden bed had thin finial posts that held up a light square frame. Over this were draped net curtains, rather like a wedding veil. A sprig of lilac lay on the pillow. It was the kind of bed Jenny had dreamed of owning as a child but would never have fitted in her bedroom in Harlow.
It’s like a fairy tale.
Bridget laughed, a tinkling sound partly smothered by the hand she placed over her mouth. ‘Isn’t it? I’m afraid I have romantic tastes. Now what’s that lilac doing there?’ She moved it to join the others in a glass vase on the dressing table. ‘You should see my own room. I’ve gone the full satin curtain route in there. My husband thought I was insane. It was the late eighties, you know, and we were all terribly modern then, shoulder pads, permed hair, God forgive us. I was out of step with the times by about a hundred years, according to my husband. Do I take it you approve?’
Jenny poked her head into the bathroom with its clawfoot bath and black and white tiles, vanity unit and large mirror. She’d miss a shower but she was hardly going to complain about that when she had it all to herself. She mimed applause.
‘I’m pleased you like it. Yes, you’ll do very well here, I think. When would you like to move in?’
Jenny tapped her watch, indicating now.
‘Then come as soon as you can, dear. We look forward to having you.’
There was one drawback: it was around ten minutes on foot from Gallant House to the station down roads bordering the heath but Jenny decided not to care. The long dark walk in winter and fear of attackers lurking in bushes was a problem for another day. Sitting on the train heading home, she was still reeling. A beautiful house in mature gardens, an ancient vine, an overgrown tennis court, even a mulberry tree: she would be living in a Grade A daydream. She’d even possibly – maybe – be able to carry on as a professional musician and have only one job. It felt too good to be true.
Then she remembered the single jarring note: the sprig of lilac. If Bridget hadn’t put it on her pillow, that left the absent Jonah as culprit. That didn’t seem an appropriate gesture when they’d never met.
She didn’t want her perfect house spoiled. She was leaping to conclusions. There had to be a cleaner to keep a house that size in such good order; she might put flowers on a pillow to welcome a newcomer without it being odd, mightn’t she?
Harry rapped on the flimsy folding door, making it rattle on its sliders. ‘Jenny?’
She looked up from her suitcase and signed ‘What?’.
‘I just wanted to apologise for Saturday.’ He was holding one arm awkwardly behind his back.
Her answer was a shrug. Her flatmates had tried to clear up; someone had tackled the bathroom and they had filled the wheelie bin to overflowing. Two days later the house had moved from unspeakable to merely foul.
‘I realised how it must’ve seemed to you. It wasn’t planned. We didn’t leave you out on purpose.’
Really? She could’ve bought the unplanned part but all it would’ve taken was a text for her to feel included. But what did that matter? She was moving to paradise.
‘I heard that you’re leaving. You don’t have to do that. We had a house meeting …’
Without her?
‘… And we agreed we’ve been pigs. We don’t even have the excuse of being students anymore. We’ve drawn up a rota.’ Like she hadn’t suggested that a million times. ‘So, please, don’t go. This is from us.’ He presented her with a bunch of mixed flowers which looked like they’d been culled from the derelict garden and a local park. The forget-me-nots were already wilting.
She took them. What else could she do without being a complete cow? She laid them on the windowsill and got out her iPad.
‘A new room at lower rent? Are you sure?’ Harry read more of her typed explanation. ‘Do you even know the woman? There has to be a catch surely? Are you going to be doing the cleaning or something else for her? Walking her dog?’
She shook her head.
Harry fiddled with the tie of her dressing gown which hung by the door. He was always restless. Even after they’d made love, when both should’ve been feeling mellow, he used to play with her hair, twisting it into braids or bunches. He couldn’t stop touching things. She missed people touching her. ‘I worry about you – that you might be taken advantage of.’
Or maybe I finally got a break.
‘I hope so. I’m still sorry. You wouldn’t have been looking if it weren’t for how we behaved.’
She shrugged. A lot of her reactions to Harry could be summed up in that gesture. It meant everything from ‘don’t care’ to ‘life’s shitty that way’. He could pick his meaning.
Harry sat uninvited on the edge of her futon. The last time he’d perched there she’d believed that they’d still been a couple. He’d then told her that it was over, that he liked her but not enough for the long haul, like she was an around-the-world flight he chose not to board. Did he even remember that? She should’ve moved out at that point but he’d persuaded her they could be adults and share the same space without recriminations. Jenny had caved, scared of the unknown and taking her problems to a house of people who didn’t know her. It was important to her to feel safe. Plus she’d just signed up for another six-month lease. That was coming to an end now so she could leave without penalties.
‘I used to find your silence restful, did you know that? I probably mentioned it once or twice.’ He fluttered the pages of a novel she was reading, losing her place. The more she looked at the thirty-something Harry, the closer the resemblance was to a petulant schoolboy. How had she missed that? He was waiting for a response.
Shrug.