This Could Change Everything(12)

Essie pulled a face. ‘Not famous,’ she said wryly. ‘More like infamous. I did a bad thing and got caught out.’

‘Out of interest, did you hear me say fuck just now?’

‘Yes, I did.’

Zillah noticed that her eyes were green. ‘And did it shock you?’

The girl looked amused. ‘When you’re a glamorous seventy-something wearing a fabulous hat, I reckon you can carry it off.’

Once the door had closed behind the girl, Zillah said, ‘Was she in prison?’

‘What?’ Jonathan looked startled. ‘God, no, nothing like that.’

‘Name?’

‘Erm . . .’ He hesitated, then pointed to the name tag on his chest. ‘Jonathan.’

‘Her name,’ said Zillah.

‘Oh.’ He watched, abashed, as she whipped out her phone. ‘Sorry. Essie Phillips.’





Chapter 7


It was a grim, narrow bedsit with a mottled carpet the colour of raw liver and cloudy windows that evidently hadn’t been cleaned this side of the millennium. The view from the main window was a close-up of the wall comprising next door’s extension. As she gazed down into the tiny yard below, Essie saw a large dog yowling and heard a female voice screech, ‘If one of you kids don’t take that fucking animal for a walk, I’m chucking the telly out the window.’

Which just went to show that some people could carry off a bit of profanity with style, and some people couldn’t.

She turned back to look at the room once more. It was awful, grim beyond belief, but it was pretty much all she could afford right now.

‘Well?’ The landlord was leaning against the doorway, lazily scratching his vast stomach.

Should I take it? Oh God, I think I’m going to have to.

Her phone began to ring and Essie flinched because it was an unknown number, which might mean it was another journalist. Oh well, she could always hang up. She pressed Answer and said cautiously, ‘Hello?’

‘Essie? This is Zillah Walsh. I saw you an hour ago in Haye and Payne. I was the one in the hat.’

‘Oh!’ Of all the people she hadn’t been expecting to take a call from. ‘Hi!’

‘I persuaded that young lad to give me your number. He’s not terribly bright, is he? Anyway, he told me you’d gone viral.’

‘On the internet,’ said Essie. Did old people understand what going viral meant?

‘I know, darling. I’m not completely decrepit.’ Amused, the woman continued, ‘I googled you, read all about it. Got yourself into a bit of a pickle by the sound of things.’

‘You could say that. Obviously it was never meant to be seen, but it was my own fault,’ said Essie. Because, essentially, the buck did stop with her.

‘And are you still looking for somewhere to live?’

‘Well . . .’

‘Ahem.’ Behind her, the landlord cleared his throat impatiently.

‘You lazy little bastards,’ bellowed the woman next door.

‘Yes I am,’ Essie said with feeling into the phone.

‘OK, come and have a chat with me. Number twenty-three, Percival Square. No guarantees, but I may have something for you.’

‘When, now?’

‘If it’s convenient for you, that’d be great. I’m here now, so you can turn up as soon as you’d like.’

Percival Square was one of the most elegant addresses in the city. Most of the trees that grew in the square were twisty and bare, but a fir tree had been installed on a plinth and strung with coloured lights and stars. Tourists were gathered around, taking photographs of themselves and their friends in front of it. As Essie made her way past them, an American tourist gestured expansively to his wife and said, ‘Oh honey, imagine living somewhere like this.’

The glossy deep purple front door of number 23 was adorned with a dark green and gold Christmas wreath. Essie rang the bell and waited. She wasn’t getting her hopes up. The old woman was clearly a favoured client at Haye and Payne and a wealthy one at that; she presumably owned a number of rental properties, the kind that they let out to students and managed on her behalf.

Fingers crossed she had a tiny one going extra cheap.

Then the door opened and Zillah Walsh appeared in front of her, now minus her hat and coat but still stylish in a topaz jersey dress, with several strings of amber beads looped around her neck.

‘Hello again. Come inside.’ She beckoned for Essie to follow her. ‘Now, can you remember what you said about me earlier?’

The old woman’s eyes were dark and bright. Her brown hair was fastened back in a bun. She had excellent cheekbones and her crimson lipstick was still as perfect as it had been over an hour ago. Which was a feat Essie herself had never been able to achieve.

‘Erm . . . I said your hat was great?’

‘You did. And?’

‘I didn’t mind you swearing?’

Zillah Walsh nodded in agreement. ‘You also said that seeing as I was seventy-something, I could get away with it. Seventy-something,’ she repeated.

‘Oh no, God, I’m so sorry.’ Essie clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘This is why my life is such a disaster – I’m always putting my foot in it. And I don’t even know why I said that – you look fantastic. Not a day over sixty!’