Meanwhile Gardens (6 page)

“Shhhh! Nicks, let’s go.”

“Ollie and I play air guitar to it.”

“C’mon Nicks we really must be – ”

“It’s Bush.”

Ollie could feel himself blushing like a schoolgirl.

“Bush?? That sub-Nirvana tosh?” Ger raised an eyebrow in exaggerated surprise. “Kinda retro I guess.”

“Post-retro more like,” Liv took Ollie’s side. “The amount of times they’re listed as influences these days.”

“Yeah, well, I needed something to throw me down the canal.”

“It’s a wonder you didn’t throw yourself in it!” Clive howled.

Nicky looked at her friend, “It
is
Bush isn’t it Ol?”

Ollie didn’t reply. He looked back at the table, taking in Will’s – Andy’s – chuckle and gave a resigned wave of farewell.

He could still hear their amusement as they crossed the bridge.

“You could have been a bit more supportive,” Ollie grumbled, “and said it was Florence and the Machine or Bat for Lashes or someone.”

“But it wasn’t Ol.”

“Next time I’ll give them a bar from a Miles Davis song, that’ll get them.”

“And you can really hum freeform jazz can’t you?”

“Well,” Ollie blustered, “well – ”. He quickly changed the subject, “What do you know about Andy?”

“Not much. I’ve seen him around though. He’s a drummer or something. Funny how you thought his name was Will.”

“It was Will,” Ollie insisted. “I know it’s him Nicks. He snogged me rotten at Spider’s New Year’s party a couple of
years ago – we had a joke about his name, ‘
Will
he, won’t he?
Will
I?
Will
you?’ you know, silly drunken humour.”

“How many people have you drunkenly snogged?”

“That’s an unfair, loaded question.”

“ – at New Year’s parties?”

Ollie glared at her, “Ok, I give in.”

“Think about it Ollie. Maybe it was someone else.”

But Ollie wasn’t listening any longer. His attention had been taken by a brown Mercedes jeep parked outside the blink-and-you’d-miss-it entrance to the mews.

The front door to Ollie’s house was open. Hum, growling, bounded past the workroom and up the stairs. Ollie and Nicky followed.

“Soi fort mon ami,” Nicky squeezed his hand.

As always when he was nervous Ollie began whistling the theme tune from
Bewitched
, the sixties hit tv show turned into noughties flop film.

Coming up the stairs into the sitting room Ollie found Candida on a stepladder by the shelves next to the fireplace.

The lower shelves were crammed with books, but the upper one had a selection of prints and sketches that he had picked up over the years from his travels, from markets and auctions.

It was the upper one that Candida appeared interested in.

Hum, a dangerous glint in his eye, had made it to the third rung of the ladder that now wobbled precariously.

“Call him off Oliver.”

“Hum. No.”

But Hum was intent on going further.

“Oliver!”

Ollie went over to the stepladder, picked up Hum and firmly put him on the floor.

“On your bed,” Ollie commanded but Hum stayed where he was. “On your bed!” he said more loudly. The dog smiled at Ollie, gave a last snarl at Candida and moved reluctantly to his leopard-print snug under the table.

Ollie helped Candida down from the stepladder.

“You have quite a good little collection, of no value of course,” she sniffed disdainfully, “but interesting.”

“Still working at Sotheby’s Candida – or is the Hermès scarf just for effect?” Nicky was unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“Still taking little snaps?” Candida cooed in return before turning back to Ollie. “I found a key in James’ things Oliver, I was early so thought I’d better let myself in. I hope you don’t mind,” she smiled sweetly, immediately putting Ollie on edge. “I’ll get right to it. James was given a miniature by great Aunt Wilhemina before she died. It’s a portrait of a young woman in a silvery fur wrap – you haven’t seen it by chance?”

“No Candida,” Ollie lied.

“James didn’t leave it here or – ”

“No.”

“It’s just the portrait is of one of my ancestors. It’s worthless and is only of value to us, the family. We’re anxious to keep it as a historical reminder and – ”

Ollie cut her short, “If I see it I’ll let you know.”

“The funny thing is I’m sure James said he gave – lent it to you?” Candida looked Ollie straight in the eye.

Ollie tried not to blink but couldn’t. To ease his nerves he again whistled a few bars of
Bewitched
.

“Oliver,” Candida’s voice returned to its normal coldness, “I know you have it.”

“Listen Miss La-di-da Nose-In-The-Air,” Nicky moved between them. “Ollie said he doesn’t have it, and besides, if
your brother gave this painting to him, he obviously wanted Ollie to have it didn’t he?”

Excited by Nicky’s raised voice Hum emerged, tail wagging, from under the table.

Ollie gestured for Nicky to calm down, “It’s ok Nicks.”

“No it’s not ok! She lets herself in, snoops around, practically accuses you of theft. It’s not ok.”

“There’s an easy way of doing this, Oliver, and a hard way.”

“Candida, if I see this miniature – ”

“If?” Candida repeated scornfully. “I can see you’re going to choose the hard way.” She grabbed her Bill Amberg bag of soft tan leather and made to leave. “I never did understand your relationship with my brother. You loved him and he didn’t love you – wasn’t that it? That’s not a relationship Oliver, that’s pathetic.”

Ollie felt his eyes welling up.

Candida turned at the top of the stairs and gestured to Hum who began to bark and snarl. “You know if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have the damn dog. I could have had him put in a home, I could have had him put down.”

Hum took this opportunity to deliver a light nip to Candida’s ankles.

“And if that’s drawn blood, he will be.”

Nicky had to restrain the snarling, snapping Hum.

“Candida?” Nicky pronounced it ‘Candeeder’ knowing it would annoy the hell out of her. “Haven’t you forgotten something?” Nicky held out her hand palm up and gestured to James’ sister.

Candida grimaced. She unballed her fist, threw the front door key at Nicky’s feet and stomped down the stairs.

As the door slammed Nicky put an arm around her friend, “It’s no wonder they named an ailment after her.”

Ollie pulled Nicky to him and began to cry.

“You got the key back I hope?”

Ollie nodded to Auntie Em’s question. He sipped the Bloody Mary that he was so fond of and she was so good at making.

“Well, Nicky did actually. She was great. You would have been proud Auntie Em,” Ollie raised his glass in salute to the photographer. “Candida had obviously planned this. I told her I’d be out until twelve.”

“Maybe she
was
just early – “

“Half an hour early?”

“Well, it is Sunday afterall, perhaps the traffic might have been easier than she thought?”

“She lives in Holland Park Auntie Em.”

“So it wouldn’t take her more than – ”

“Even with the road works on Ladbroke Grove it wouldn’t take more than five minutes.”

“And you got back at?”

“About 11:40 wasn’t it Nicks?”

The photographer nodded, “She must have been there for a while already. She’d even been through the bedroom.”

“And the studio,” Ollie added.

“The little sneak. If I catch her snooping around again she’ll regret it.” Auntie Em went to her bedroom. When she returned she had in her hands the miniature of the girl in the silvery fur wrap.

Auntie Em turned the painting over.

“‘Merlijnche de Poortje’,” she read from the underside. “Unless the family are Flemish – ?” she looked to Ollie for confirmation.

“German through and through. They were Hapsburgs.”

Nicky was impressed. “You mean like the kings, queens and emperors kind of Hapsburgs?”

Ollie nodded. “You can almost tell from her jaw can’t
you? There’s something positively Teutonic about the way it juts out.”

“God you can be a bit of an anorak Ol,” Nicky tutted sadly, “like I know the facial characteristics of European royalty.”

“James always said they were a very minor strain. It’s an enormous family apparently. Anyway they were Hapsburgs until the First World War when they changed their name to–”

“Hapshill,” Auntie Em finished for him.

“Don’t believe a word of what Candida said. It’s not a family heirloom. I was with James when he bought it at a rather cheap and nasty auction in Brighton,” Ollie looked at the painting, “It was unwanted and going for a song. James fell in love with it.”

“Is it by any one famous?”

“Some Dutch school apparently – but that could mean anything.”

Nicky looked at the miniature, “She looks so calm and poised doesn’t she?”

They all admired the painting with its striking use of shadows and light.

“What do you think Candida’s up to Ol?” Nicky asked

Ollie shrugged, “Until we find out Merlijnche de Poortje might be safer here. Auntie Em – would you?”

Auntie Em topped up their glasses, “It would be a pleasure.”

Auntie Gem’s favourite Sunday mass was the one with the Sisters at their chapel in St Charles Square. She hadn’t missed their mid-morning prayers for – for? Auntie Gem wracked her brain but she couldn’t remember, all she knew was that it had been many, many years.

This morning Sister Margaret had asked for special prayers for those lost and alone. Auntie Gem immediately thought of the ghost of the poor young girl she had seen in the cemetery and offered up a prayer for her deliverance. What with seeing the ghost, and with her concern about Ollie, this could turn into a six-mass-day she thought.

After the service and a cup of tea with the Sisters, Auntie Gem crossed Ladbroke Grove into the two storey Victorian shopping terrace of Golborne Road. Even on a Sunday the little street was busy, its Portuguese cafés, delis and North African street vendors doing a steady trade from regulars and incomers alike.

Gem bought some black olives marinated in lemon juice, Emma’s favourite kind, from the friendly Moroccan. She could never call Emma ‘Em’ like others did. She quite liked ‘Auntie Em’ – but she couldn’t call her charge ‘Auntie’ could she?

Auntie Gem chuckled at the thought.

Emma would always be her charge, would always be the mischievous creature she had cared for since a baby, had cared for, in fact, for all of Emma’s fifty three years – the first nineteen of which had been spent in Jamaica. After ‘the accident’ as Auntie Gem referred to it – she had never believed Emma’s father had committed suicide – they had been forced to come to England where they had been for the last thirtyfour years.

Thirtyfour years.

Even though England was certainly her home and she was settled here now, Auntie Gem harboured thoughts of returning to Redlight, the tiny village of her birth, in the Blue Mountains above Kingston.

Perhaps next year after she retired, she thought.

Perhaps.

Auntie Gem picked her way through the crowds outside the cafés amazed at how, with the first hint of sunshine, the people outside Café Feliz wore shorts and t-shirts. She shivered, adjusted the brim of her brown felt hat, tightened her chunky knit scarf and pulled her quilted coat around her. It would take a lot more than autumn sunshine to get Gemma Nelson into something lighter.

Entering the small cobbled mews she could hear voices coming from the large corner house she shared with Emma.

“And how was your run angel?” Auntie Em refilled Ollie’s glass.

“Well, it wasn’t so much a run Auntie Em as a jog,” Ollie’s brow furrowed slightly. “Actually even jogging is overstating things. It was more like a cross between walking and falling. I staggered and stumbled along the canal, literally bouncing off the walls. ”

“Something you’ll be doing regularly then?”

“Perhaps. If you see a sign on my door saying ‘gone lurching’ you’ll know where I am,” Ollie paused to take a sip from his Bloody Mary. “This might sound ridiculous – ”

Nicky and Auntie Em looked over. They both liked things that sounded ridiculous.

“ – but I think Auntie Gem’s ghost might exist.”

Auntie Em stopped refilling Nicky’s glass to give him an amused look, “Really?”

“I didn’t have a chance to tell you before but when I was jogging – ”

No one had heard Auntie Gem come in. She had hung up her coat by the front door and was about to make her presence known when she overheard Ollie’s remark about the ghost.

Feeling guilty for listening Auntie Gem remained motionless in the stairwell. She heard Ollie recount how he
heard a young girl’s laughter coming from the cemetery opposite the knoll overlooking Little Wormwood Scrubs.

“But the funny thing was the laughter seemed to have an otherworldly quality,” he continued. “It just seemed to hang in the air.”

“Couldn’t someone have been on the other side?”

“No, you would see them. It’s where the iron cemetery fence turns into a brick wall. The canal bank just there is hardly big enough for a goose let alone a person.”

Auntie Gem could bear it no longer.

“Hello?” she called up.

“Not a word about the ghost,” Auntie Em hissed to Ollie who nodded. Hum awoke from his slumber and trotted over to greet the elderly, but ageless, black lady as she came up the stairs into the sitting room.

“Doesn’t he bark?”

“Only at people he doesn’t like Auntie Gem,” Ollie took an envelope from his jacket and gave it her. “A little present for you. Open it later.”

It was closer to seven when Ollie and Nicky finally left. Trellick Tower loomed large above them, its crown of aerials half-shrouded in mist.

“Are you sure you won’t come? The new Almodovar is showing at The Gate.”

“There’s something I have to do Nicks.”

“We’ll be at The Cow later.”

“Maybe I’ll join you.”

Nicky kissed him on the cheek, “Liar.”

Ollie watched Nicky walk out of the mews. Without looking back she put one arm in the air and waved – just like Sally Bowles in
Cabaret
Ollie thought, smiling as he let himself into his house.