Just Like the Other Girls(8)

I walk in, my mouth falling open. It’s more of a suite than a room, with an en-suite bedroom, leading into another smaller room, which has been set up as a lounge.

‘To give you some space if you don’t want to be in the sitting room with my mother,’ Kathryn says, as I gaze at my surroundings in awe. ‘Believe me, there will be times when you’ll be glad to get away.’ She laughs then, loud and throaty, which catches me by surprise. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh properly. She hands me a key. ‘You can also lock your door,’ she says.

Why would I want to?

Kathryn is looking around the room, a wistful expression on her face. Then she suddenly seems to remember I’m there and comes to. ‘Right, well, I’ll leave you to unpack.’

When she’s left the room, I perch on the edge of the sleigh bed that’s been pushed up against two sash windows overlooking the suspension bridge and vow to keep it tidy. The duvet cover is white with pink rosebuds dotted over it, the walls are painted a soft grey and the floorboards are sanded and varnished. It’s a lot nicer than my room at the flat. I get up, smoothing the bedding where I’ve just sat, and wander into my lounge area. A wooden desk faces another large sash window, there’s a grey linen sofa with pink scatter cushions, and a lamp next to a small TV.

This window overlooks the back garden, which is vast, with a shed and a greenhouse. I can see Lewis piling rubbish into a wheelbarrow, his back bent, his breath steaming. Right at the back of the garden, poking through the trees, is an ugly wooden structure that might once have been a tree house. I imagine Kathryn playing there as a kid. I wonder if she was lonely in this big house with its huge garden, no brothers or sisters to play with. I’m an only child and I was never lonely. But then it was always just me and Mum. We were a team, a unit. Self-contained and all the happier for it.

I go back through to the bedroom, unpack my clothes and put them away in the ivory French-style wardrobe and chest of drawers. I resist the urge to bung them all into one drawer, as I would have done at the flat. I pull out a framed photograph of me and Mum at the beach, taken a year ago. Before the cancer diagnosis. I hold it for a while, remembering our holiday in Devon and wishing I could go back to that time when everything was simpler, then place it on my bedside table.

I fill my bottom drawer with the snacks I’d bought on the way here. All my favourites: Cheddars, Oreos, a packet of Penguins and a couple of cans of Sprite. I know my meals are catered for, but I do love my snacks. And I don’t feel comfortable helping myself to whatever Elspeth has in her cupboards.

I take my sponge-bag into the bathroom. It’s small but well equipped, although I can’t help the little thud of disappointment that there’s only a walk-in shower and no bath. It’s my way of relaxing, although it used to drive Mum mad when I was a teenager and my bath bombs left a coloured ring. Still, a shower is good and, more importantly, I won’t have to share this bathroom with anyone else. Courtney could spend hours in the morning faffing with her hair extensions and her fake eyelashes and self-tanning cream. I finger one of the plush grey towels. Everything has been thought of, right down to the White Company room spray sitting neatly on top of the cistern.

I open the cupboard under the sink and shove my cosmetics bag on the lower shelf. I’m about to close it again when something glints in the corner, catching my eye. It looks like a balled-up chain. I reach for it. It’s old, tarnished, the chain in knots, but at the end is an oval locket. I try to open it, but age has made it stick together and I almost break one of my fingernails trying to prise it apart. I place it on my bedside table instead. I’ll ask Kathryn about it later. It must have belonged to the girl who was here before.

I can hear footsteps outside my room and Kathryn calls through the door. ‘Are you ready? Mother is asking for you.’

‘The room is lovely, thank you,’ I say, as I follow her along the landing.

‘That’s down to Mother. She likes everything to be just so. You’ll learn that about her.’

‘Right.’

‘And you’ve got the floor to yourself so at least it warrants some privacy,’ she says, walking down the stairs. She keeps talking about privacy as though the house is full of people, but as far as I’m aware it will be just me and Elspeth at night. We reach the next floor where I assume the other bedrooms are. It looks like there are four off the wide landing, but I don’t get the chance to be nosy before I’m ushered down the next flight of stairs.

Elspeth is perched upright in a high-backed chair in what Kathryn calls the sitting room but I call a lounge. She gets up when she sees me and rushes over, embracing me like she would a long-lost daughter. She has to bend down quite a bit. She’s at least four inches taller than I am. ‘Una! It’s so lovely to see you! I do hope you’ve settled into your rooms okay.’

My rooms. I want to giggle. I feel like I’m in Downton Abbey.

And then she turns to Kathryn, as if noticing her for the first time, and her expression darkens. ‘What are you still doing here? You can go now.’

I can’t help but flinch at her cutting tone. I can tell Kathryn’s hurt, although she’s doing her best to hide it. Her shoulders are pulled back and her chin juts as though to ward off unkind words. She stalks off, without saying goodbye to either of us, and closes the door firmly behind her.

‘Thank goodness she’s gone. She’s such a kill-joy,’ says Elspeth, straight-faced but with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes. I want to laugh at her forthrightness, while also feeling slightly appalled that she is speaking about her daughter in that way. My mum would never have talked about me like that behind my back. ‘Right, come on, let me show you around.’ She takes my arm and leads me through the house. She’s surprisingly sprightly for an older lady who needs a companion and carer, and I wonder again why she’s hired me. Is she just lonely? But how can she be, with Kathryn always hanging around?