Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
You must come across some sights, as a postman,’ Jess said, the moment Terence walked through the door. She was making what could loosely be described as a stir-fry in the flat’s tiny kitchen. It was so easy to buy food from the market on her way home, but she would never have a hope of moving to her own place one day if she spent her entire salary on gyozas and stone-baked pizzas.
‘You must come across some things, working in one of London’s tourist hotspots,’ Terence parried, dumping his rucksack on a chair. ‘Celebrities. Buskers. Weirdos.’ He shuddered.
‘Everyone’s weird.’ Jess stirred her onion, mushroom and red pepper round the frying pan, and hoped the addition of diced chicken breast would make it more appealing. That was another thing about the market – it threw her cooking inadequacies into a stark light. ‘You can’t call people weirdos.’
‘Some are weirder than others.’ Terence took a beer out of the fridge. ‘Want one?’
‘They’re yours.’
‘Which is why I’m offering you one. You don’t have to accept.’
‘No – I’d love one, thank you.’
Terence opened the bottles with the shark-fin opener that lived on the fridge, and handed her one. She took it and they clinked, then both took a long sip. The bubbles danced in Jess’s mouth, cool and refreshing.
When she’d made it back to No Vase Like Home after the shock of seeing Felicity’s house, Wendy had already had her bag over her shoulder, waiting for Jess to return so she could keep an appointment with a local company who made unusual ceramic bowls. There hadn’t even been time for Jess to give her the highlights. She’d been alone in the shop all afternoon – apart from a bunch of customers, most of whom didn’t buy anything – then she’d locked up and come home.
Her disquiet needed an outlet, and Terence was all she had.
‘Do you want to share my stir-fry?’ she asked him.
He was leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone. He looked at her paltry vegetables frying in the pan, and the chicken breast she hadn’t even diced yet. He sighed, then opened the fridge and took out a large broccoli floret and a packet of bacon.
‘Only if we make it more interesting,’ he said. ‘And shouldn’t you have done the chicken first?’
‘Probably. I haven’t been that focused,’ Jess admitted. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I reckon we can make something passable. I’ll do the chicken separately.’
They worked alongside each other, chopping and stirring, adding seasoning. Jess’s nervous energy began to dissipate.
‘Why did you ask about my job?’ Terence said, once the chicken was sizzling gently. ‘And I do – I see all sorts. Nasty arguments and people coming to the door in hardly any clothes; dogs snarling, children screaming. Sometimes, when I post letters with red reminder stamps on them, the house owner opens the door and tries to give them back, so they can pretend they never got them.’
‘Denial.’ Jess nodded. ‘I bet that’s a big one.’
‘Not as frequent as the bloody dogs. They try to rip my trousers sometimes. It’s a cliché because it’s true. Who’s denying what, anyway?’
‘Oh, a... customer, at the shop.’ Jess suddenly thought that Terence might have Felicity’s street on his round, and it wouldn’t be fair to betray her confidence. She wanted to talk to Wendy because she thought she’d be able to help, but telling Terence identifiable details felt like overstepping a line. ‘But it’s fine,’ she went on. ‘No problem. Tell me about your strangest encounter of all time.’
Terence laughed. ‘It’s not as exciting as you think it is.’
‘But you see naked people.’
‘That’s your idea of excitement?’ He raised an eyebrow, and she blushed. ‘It’s not all six-packs and smooth skin, let me tell you. I wish I could un-see most of it.’
‘Do lots of people live on their own?’
‘I suppose so,’ Terence said, after a moment. ‘I go to lots of places where the letters are addressed to a single name, where the same person always answers the door. People do live on their own, though. Young guys and gals who haven’t settled down yet, old folk who have lost their other half, middle-aged people who’ve decided they prefer the solitude. You and I rub along all right, don’t we? But we’re only living together because London rent is off the charts, so I couldn’t afford this place on my own, and you couldn’t afford anywhere by yourself, either. We’ve been brought together by necessity.’
‘But we make a good stir-fry between us.’ Jess felt comforted by his matter-of-fact observations.
‘We’ve not tasted it yet.’
‘It looks and smells great, though. The component parts.’
‘Sure.’ He sipped his beer. ‘You OK?’
She looked up. ‘Of course. Why?’
‘The questions, the ruminating. You’re being more... share-y, than usual. There’s something on your mind.’
‘There’s always something on my mind.’ She shrugged. ‘But today it is a very specific thing, and you’ve helped a lot.’
‘Great. I have no idea how, or with what, but I realised a long time ago that sometimes it’s best not to ask. Let’s get this on some plates, and see if it tastes as good as it smells.’
It did taste good: well seasoned, crunchy and satisfying, with slippery noodles underpinning it all. While they were eating it and chatting about nothing in particular, Jess wondered if Terence was right. Was it best not to ask? To leave Felicity to get on with her way of life? The only problem was, the moment Jess had seen that hallway, she had felt, deep inside her, that the older woman inviting her there had been a cry for help. A sign that, however long she’d been hoarding for, a small part of her had had enough. Jess didn’t think she could live with herself if she didn’t try to do something about it.
Back in her room, she was restless. Lola was working at the pub, and calling Wendy out of work hours would alert her to how much this had distressed her, and would make her boss treat it with a level of importance that Jess didn’t want to give it – more for Felicity’s sake than her own. She still didn’t have Ash’s number, and the strength with which she wished she could call him and talk to him about Felicity, ask his advice, scared her. But she couldn’t, so she did the only other thing she could think of.
It was her dad who answered the phone, surprise and warmth in his voice. ‘Jess, love, how are you? Everything OK?’
‘I’m good, thanks. How about you and Mum? You’re both well?’ She sounded so formal. She waggled her shoulders, trying to shake it off.
‘We’re grand,’ he said. ‘Your mother’s on a redecorating kick. New carpets, new colours on the walls. She wants grey and blue, Duck Egg or Pea Flower Tea – there’s a colour called Pea Flower Tea, would you believe? – and she’s making noises about replacing the suite in the front room. It’s taken me twenty years to get the perfect dent in that cushion.’ He chuckled, and Jess laughed with him.
‘What about the sunflowers?’ she asked. ‘Is this... is she—?’
‘Of course not, love. Their place in this house is safer than mine. Shall I get her?’
‘Sure.’ Jess ran her finger over her laptop’s trackpad, checking the status of her Etsy orders. She had created one with Ash’s suggestion – of course she had – and only a couple of days in, it was already selling well. We all have superpowers, you just need to believe in yourself to discover yours.
‘Darling.’ Her mum’s voice had a slight echo, telling her they’d put the phone on speaker. ‘How’s No Vase Like Home? And Wendy? And lovely Lola and Malik, who we haven’t seen for ages?’ Edie Peacock liked to reassure Jess, whenever they spoke, that she hadn’t forgotten the important elements of her daughter’s life. Jess didn’t know if that was to prove how much she cared, or a subtle dig at the fact Jess didn’t let Edie in much any more.
‘Work’s great – busier now we’re getting close to summer, and Wendy’s the same as ever. Lola’s making a music video at the market, using one of her original pieces, and is getting everyone involved, unsurprisingly. Malik’s doing very... Malik-y things.’
‘That sounds exciting,’ Edie said, ‘about Lola’s music video.’
‘It is. And I’m good, too, if you were wondering.’ Shit. She hadn’t meant to say that.
There was a weighted pause. ‘That is what I was asking.’ Edie matched Jess’s firm tone. ‘I’m glad everything’s going well. We think about you a lot, don’t we, Graeme?’
‘At least once a fortnight.’ He chuckled again, trying to dispel the awkwardness.
Jess closed her eyes in frustration. It had been a mistake to call them. Since that day, almost two years ago, when she’d overheard Edie say that she wasn’t wanted, she’d hadn’t been able to think of them as her mum and dad. She’d been twenty-five at the time, and shouldn’t have relied on them much any more anyway, but it had tainted everything that had come before. All their demonstrations of love couldn’t erase what she’d learnt that day.
‘What do you know about hoarders?’ she said now. Maybe they would help her, even though she couldn’t behave like a loving, eager daughter.
‘That programme off the telly?’ her dad asked.
‘Is this about our house?’ Edie said at the same time. ‘The sunflowers? What has your dad told you? I’m decluttering, if anything, though I do think the study could do with more soft furnishings.’
Jess rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not about you, Mum, and it’s nothing to do with the TV programme, but it is the same thing as they talk about on that show. Just... in real life.’
‘Is this about you, darling? Are you worried you have a problem?’
Jess surveyed her room, everything in it comforting and necessary, meticulously tidy, down to the smallest make-up brush. She dusted every Tuesday morning, though she wouldn’t admit that to anyone.
‘No, Mum,’ she said faintly. ‘It’s someone I know through work. I had to go round to their house today, and it’s this really beautiful place near the park. They’re so elegant and proud at the shop. But when I went inside, there were stacks of things – all kinds of things – everywhere! Piled high up the walls. I saw a...’ She tried to recall the details, the things she’d noticed in the chaos: a crimper still in its box, as if Felicity had a hankering to style her hair like an Eighties disco princess; several sets of Russian dolls, all the inner dolls spilled outside their bigger friends, scattered along the kitchen windowsill, some inside saucepans; five – she had counted them – packs of thirty-two toilet rolls stacked next to the dishwasher, which had its door open, plastic bags spilling out of it like a monster spewing up its lunch. ‘I saw a whole load of batshit crazy stuff.’
Her mum made a noise of disapproval at the swearword. Jess didn’t care. Now she’d said it out loud, she felt lighter. This was no longer a secret shared by only her and Felicity, and even though she wouldn’t tell her parents who it was, and even if they couldn’t help, the mere fact of having told someone made her feel marginally better.
‘You could go to social services,’ her dad said, tentatively. ‘The council? It must be a fire risk.’
‘It’s all kinds of risks,’ Jess said. ‘But I don’t want to get this... person in trouble, either. They live on their own with their cats, and I think if they were told they were doing something wrong, it would mortify her.’
‘What’s the alternative, then?’ her dad said. ‘If she needs help?’
Jess was annoyed that, right at the end, she had revealed it was a woman. Not that her parents often came to the market, or would have an inkling who she was talking about, but still.
‘You help her,’ Edie said. ‘If you don’t want to get someone else involved, if you think that would be counterproductive, then it’s down to you, isn’t it?’ There was still an edge to her voice after Jess’s earlier barb.
‘But I have no clue what to do! I’ve never seen anything like this in real life, and I don’t think three half-watched episodes of Britain’s Greatest Hoarders qualifies me to give advice. Besides, I don’t know her that well.’
‘You know her enough to care about her,’ her dad said.
‘You care about her enough to call us for help,’ her mum added, laughing. ‘That says a great deal.’
Jess winced. ‘Yeah, I guess. I’ll... have a think.’ She felt as if she’d done nothing but think since she’d stepped through Felicity’s door that morning. ‘Thanks Mum, Dad.’
‘Of course,’ her mum said briskly. ‘You know we’re here for you.’
‘And it might be nice to see you, once in a while,’ her dad added.
‘I’d like that,’ Jess said quietly, and for once it felt like it might be true. ‘It’s just hard, with me working on the weekends.’
‘You have evenings off.’
‘I do,’ Jess conceded. ‘I’ll look at some dates.’ Was there a more obvious brush-off than that? Still, it was all she could say right now.
They said goodbye, and she flung her phone aside and lay on her bed. She couldn’t help Felicity; she had no idea where to start. Until that morning, she had looked up to the older woman as a role model, someone independent, elegant and in control of her life. Jess had imagined that her home was as polished as her appearance, but it was clear that there were two very different sides to her, and now all she could think about was how unhappy Felicity must be, to live such a chaotic, fractured existence, and how she might somehow end up like her. Before, that thought had filled her with hope; now, she felt nothing but dread.
She would speak to Wendy tomorrow, see if, together, they could come up with a way to help her. And tomorrow was Friday, which meant that, in only a couple more days, she would get another hour with Ash. Ash, who was easy to talk to and made her laugh, who was a nice distraction during a busy morning. Ash, who she suddenly wanted to tell all her problems and fears to, who she was desperate to phone up on a Thursday night, so she could ask his advice, listen to him reassuring her in his deep voice.
Groaning, she got up and looked at the new quotes she had created. Did she have any about falling into a deep pit that she’d dug entirely on her own? About being sent off course from a perfectly acceptable life plan of relying solely on yourself by a man with grey eyes? If not, it might be time to add a couple more to her collection.