‘Where’s the flat?’ asked Alexandra.
‘Tufnell Park? Have you ever been there?’
Alexandra shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. It’s quite far out.’
‘I’ll walk to the Tube with you,’ said Meg. ‘It’s not far.’
But at the other end of her Tube trip, the flat seemed an awfully long way from the station, Lizzie thought as she checked her A–Z once again to make sure she was in the right place. She was already deeply depressed by her surroundings. The huge Victorian houses seemed unkempt and run down. This part of London was very different from Chelsea. And how long would it take her to get to the cookery school from here? She realised it would be quicker when she knew the way, but it would still take over an hour, she reckoned. An hour away from Gina and her cosy little house, from her new friends. And it seemed a world away from her home in Surrey.
Although Lizzie was naïve she was not stupid and she realised that Gina was justified in not wanting her pretty young niece to live with her. She also accepted Gina couldn’t give Barry the brush-off –he was too wealthy and generous for her to be able to afford to. But Lizzie did wish that Gina could have put up with her for just a bit longer. The cookery course was only for a few weeks, and she would go home when it was over.
However, although her going home after the course was always the plan, Lizzie was beginning to think she might prefer to get a job and stay in London. Meg was going to work after the course. Why couldn’t she? She wasn’t as talented a cook as Meg was, of course, but she was OK, better than the debs, who never seemed to pay attention and just wanted to talk about the next party, weekend in the country, or event on the social calendar, while yearning for their picture in theTatler.
At last the numbers of the very long road she was walking down were a bit nearer to the number of the address she had written on a bit of paper in her hand. Two more houses and she was there.
The front door wasn’t promising. It was very dirty and had a piece of cardboard pinned over a broken pane. Lizzie rang the bell and hoped no one would answer. Then she could go home and tell Gina she’d tried. Before she attempted to find somewhere else again, she would check very carefully the area the flat-share was in, although she realised the reasonable rent had probably been a sign it would not only be miles from anywhere she wanted to be but also very scruffy.
A young woman opened the door. She had long hair tucked behind her ears like curtains. She had greasy skin and didn’t smile.
‘You here for the room? You’d better come in, but I warn you, there’s plenty after it.’
Lizzie felt it would be rude to leave before she’d even crossed the threshold so she went through the door.
An unidentifiable but powerful smell hit her nostrils: a combination of old cooking fat, cabbage and drains were all she could identify. Maybe there was a hint of body odour but that could have been coming from the girl.
‘It’s upstairs, follow me,’ said the girl. ‘I’m Monica, by the way.’
Monica opened a door off the first landing. ‘In here.’
Monica had been right about there being others after a share in this flat. Lizzie found herself in a tiny hallway with doors opening off it and nearly bumped into a fellow viewer.
‘I’m so sorry!’ said a very tall, smartly dressed young man. ‘Did I step on your foot?’
‘No, it’s all right, you didn’t.’ Lizzie would have smiled at him except his good looks and well-cut suit increased her natural shyness. His voice was very upper class.
‘Living room through there,’ said Monica, who was now pushing past Lizzie.
The man went into the room first and Lizzie followed.
It had a bay window draped in yellowing net curtains, a large black plastic-covered sofa with a tear in it, two other armchairs, and a small scratched coffee table. There was an electric fire in the fireplace. Her mother, who had an inbuilt sense for such things, would surely say it was damp – yes, the wallpaper was detaching itself from the wall and there was mould on the wall behind the door.
‘There’s a meter for the electric,’ said Monica. ‘Bedroom’s here.’
Lizzie’s room at Gina’s wasn’t large but it made this little boxroom seem spacious. There was no window and no other furniture apart from the bed.
‘It’s a single,’ said Monica, stating the obvious, ‘which is why it’s a bit dearer. Hook for your clothes on the door.’
‘Kitchen?’ asked the man.
A grubby gas stove, a sink and a Formica table with two chairs completed the furnishings but at least it had a window.
Monica flapped a hand at the window. ‘Keep your milk on the sill. Label your bottle.’
‘What about the bathroom?’ asked Lizzie. She knew she wasn’t going to take the room, she’d rather go home and travel up each day from there than live here, but she would have felt rude if she hadn’t seen the entire offering.
‘Shared with the flat above. There’s a rota.’ The doorbell rang and Monica withdrew.
‘Do you want to take it?’ asked the man.
