Fifteen
‘Hello, Hanna. This is a surprise. You haven’t changed a bit.’
‘Hello, Aunt Susan. Neither have you. I apologise for this, but I had nowhere else to go.’
‘All the hotels are full then, are they? No. Don’t turn away. I told you when you called that you are more than welcome, and I meant it. Come in.’
‘Thank you. I did consider an hotel, but I didn’t want to be alone right now.’
Hanna stepped inside Susan’s terraced Victorian, two-storey house in Wimbledon Village in South West London. A house she hadn’t been inside since the day she had walked out of it more than twelve years ago.
‘Drop your bags there. We’ll sort those out later. I’ll open a bottle of wine and you can tell me all about him.’
‘Him? What makes you think there’s a man involved?’ Hanna dropped her holdalls beside an Edwardian coat stand but stayed where she was.
Susan glanced back over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, sweetheart. There’s always a man involved. You’ve coped withanything and everything life threw at you, but when it involved a man, you always fell apart. And you wouldn’t be here unless you were falling apart. Now follow me.’
‘Well, you should know. You were the reason I fell apart the last time.’
Hanna didn’t move. This was a mistake. A huge mistake.
Susan turned and walked back to her, and then she linked an arm through Hanna’s, and coaxed her forward.
‘Are we still doing that? I thought that hatchet was buried when you finally answered my calls two years ago. If this is going to be a problem you need to say so now, because, despite what everyone said at the time, we’re still together you know.’
‘But he’s not here, right? You told me when we spoke that he wasn’t here.’
‘Don’t panic. He’s not. Would it still bother you to see him? You told me you got over him years ago.’
‘I did. I am. But … I’m feeling vulnerable right now and … and even being here is bringing it all back. I should go. This was a mistake.’
‘Stop being such a drama Queen, young lady.’ Susan unlinked their arms and placed both her hands on Hanna’s shoulders, forcing her to sit. ‘Sit down and breathe, for heaven’s sake. Whoever this man is, you’ve got it bad, haven’t you? Now stay. I’m opening the wine and we’re going to drink and talk and sort this all out.’
Hanna took several deep breaths. Susan might have broken Hanna’s heart all those years ago, but something deep inside had told Hanna to come here.
She glanced around, only now realising they were in a large open plan kitchen, dining, and sitting room. The grey kitchen units were all sleek lines, like Susan herself, and the dining and sitting areas had modern, grey, and no doubt designer, furniture. The TV, wherever it was, was hidden from view, andthere wasn’t a single book in sight, which was odd. Hanna remembered the house being full of books. Now the pale grey walls were covered with possibly hundreds of paintings. Black framed, glass folding doors led out onto a dark grey slate patio and beyond that a beautifully manicured lawn with flower borders, and silver birch trees, all bathed in a purple glow from the outside lights. Two equally sleek Russian Blue cats strolled down a path as if they were on a fashion cat walk, and Hanna gave a quiet snort. Even the cats were grey. But grey had always been Susan’s favourite colour.
‘So what do you think of the place?’ Susan asked from the kitchen area, and Hanna had to swivel in her dark grey chair to face her.
‘It’s grey,’ Hanna said. ‘But it’s beautiful. You’ve made several changes. Like knocking three rooms into one. Where have all the books gone?’
‘We have a library now. And a study. We’ve gone up into the loft space to make room for those.’
‘Still writing self-help books?’
‘Still painting? Some things will never change.’ Susan handed Hanna a glass of chilled white wine. A large glass. She clinked her glass with Hanna’s. ‘Cheers. It’s lovely to see you after so many years. Did you spot them?’
Hanna took several large gulps of her wine. She needed them. ‘Spot what? The cats? Yes. They’re also beautiful. But … he was allergic to cats, wasn’t he?’
A slow grin spread across Susan’s generous mouth as she sat in another dark grey chair opposite.
‘Still is. But he’s grown used to them. Sadly, the same can’t be said for them. They hiss at him. Then again, so do I sometimes. I didn’t mean the cats. I meant the paintings.’
‘I could hardly miss them, could I? Since when did you become such an art lover? I seem to remember bare walls, save for a few large and impressive mirrors here and there.’
‘Mirrors are for young people. Once you hit sixty, they’re not always so kind. Art is far more beautiful to look at than my reflection, I’ve realised.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘Especially your art.’
‘My art!’ Hanna’s gaze shot around the room. She’d thought a few of the paintings were familiar but there was no way Susan would’ve bought any of hers.
