53. Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Three
A ll I knew about Nicola’s flat was that it was above a shop in a run-down area of the city. I’d have happily never laid eyes on it and left Nicola and Rob undisturbed in their love nest, but given Bertie was due to spend every other weekend there, I needed to picture where he was when not with me.
The charity shop below the flat had an unloved look about it. I imagined it would smell musty and, if the window display was anything to go by, would be packed with clothes belonging to the recently deceased. The building which housed the shop, and Nicola’s flat, was a different story. A white-rendered Georgian frontage housed large, curved windows and what looked like four floors.
Beside the shop front was a small blue door. I pressed the buzzer to Flat 2, and a click signalled the door unlocking. The lobby was nothing to write home about. A threadbare blue carpet stretched up a staircase that had once been white, but which now held patches of exposed wood where many palms had worn through the paint. A battered mountain bike was chained up against some rusting pipework, and the area smelled of a curious mix of dust and oil.
‘Up here.’
Nicola’s face leaned over the wide staircase, and I climbed slowly towards her, dubious about what I might find.
‘You found it OK?’ she said as I reached her.
‘Yes, no problem.’
Nicola was dressed in a floral maxi dress which skimmed her sandalled feet as she walked. The scooped back showed off a large tattooed vine which crept from her neck to goodness knows where. She pushed open a heavy oak door and beckoned me to follow. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I know the first impressions aren’t great, but I can’t be bothered to waste my time on the communal areas.’
‘Mum!’ Bertie sprinted down a long, bright corridor, skidding to a stop on the exposed wooden floor and flinging his arms around me. ‘This place is so cool. Nicola has said I can paint my bedroom whatever colour I want, and she says I can have a TV of my own.’
‘I said only if your mum agrees.’
‘You’ll say yes, won’t you, Mum?’
Before I had a chance to feel annoyed, Nicola placed a hand on my arm and apologised if she’d overstepped the mark.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I said as Bertie grabbed my hand and pulled me deeper into the flat. At the end of the corridor, we entered a light-filled open plan space. As Nicola had promised, the walls were a rich forest green. The exposed floorboards and white window frames looked like something from a home décor magazine.
‘It’s handy living above a charity shop,’ said Nicola. ‘I got all my furniture from there.’
The furniture might be secondhand, but Nicola clearly had a good eye, the unusual mix of antique and modern giving off an air of cool rather than chaotic.
‘I love your flat.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Come and see my bedroom, Mum.’
In the end Bertie gave me a tour of the entire flat. Even the bathroom was stylish, one wall covered in lush green plants which trailed down to the Victorian floor tiles. By the time we arrived back in the kitchen Nicola was making a pot of fresh coffee and Rob was propped on a bar stool, wearing a dressing gown, his hair wet from a shower. Despite having no desire to be married to Rob, the strangeness of seeing him so comfortable in another woman’s home left me feeling like I’d stepped into an alternate reality.
‘Have you got time for a coffee, Liv?’ asked Rob.
I looked at my watch.
‘Do you have to?’ asked Bertie. ‘I want to get to Lowen Farm.’
The insecurity I’d been failing to repress ebbed away. Yes, Bertie may love Nicola and her funky flat, but it was a relief to know he hadn’t totally switched allegiance. ‘Bertie’s right,’ I said. ‘We’d better get going. But thank you for the offer.’
‘Any time,’ said Nicola. ‘You know where we are now, so if you’re ever in town, feel free to drop by.’
‘Thank you.’ As much as I liked Nicola and her flat, and it was an enormous relief that Bertie hadn’t acquired a wicked stepmother, I didn’t intend to become bosom buddies with Rob’s mistress. In another life Nicola was exactly the kind of woman I’d have wanted to befriend, but the situation was too strange for any sort of close friendship. ‘Are you still all right to meet Bertie from school on Wednesday?’
‘Of course,’ said Rob. ‘I thought we could have a trip to the park, then we’ll take him out for dinner before dropping him home. Does that work for you?’
‘Perfect. I’ll see you then.’
I packed Bertie and his overnight bag into the tiny amount of space left in the car. Now I knew our move to Lowen Farm would be a permanent one, I’d raided Cass’s loft the night before and packed up pieces of artwork and knick-knacks my mother had left me but which had never fitted into Marion’s minimal design standards. The car was new, too. Well, in as much as an old banger could be counted as new. New to me, paid for by the money I’d saved thanks to the cleaning job I’d been delighted to say goodbye to.
‘Ready for the off?’
‘Go go go,’ shouted Bertie, turning the radio up and beginning to sing.