Act Of Possession. Anne Mather
girl to think she might change her mind. How could she go to their party? She didn’t know anyone; except Celia, of course. And besides, they were not her sort of people. Even Uncle Harry did not have Mercedes’ and Lamborghinis parked at his door.
Shaking her head, she pushed herself away from the panels and walked resolutely through the small living room and into the kitchen. Unpacking her shopping on to the drainer, she determinedly put all thoughts of the following evening’s activities out of her head. Concentrating instead on an examination of what she had bought, she quickly disposed of her groceries into the fitted cupboards, and then plugged in the kettle.
Pausing in the doorway to the living room, she surveyed her surroundings without emotion. When she had first seen the apartment, it had been unfurnished, and the rooms had seemed bigger then. Now, with her mother’s comfortable, chintz-covered sofa and armchairs taking up most of the space, there was hardly room for the gate-legged table she ate from. But then, her mother’s furniture had been bought to furnish a generously proportioned four-bedroomed semi, not a single person’s flat.
It was after six o’clock, she saw, with some surprise, the mellow rays of evening sunlight striking the face of the square carriage clock that stood on the mantelpiece. The apartments were centrally heated, but the old-fashioned fireplace still remained in Antonia’s living room, modernised now by the addition of a rather ugly electric fire.
However, it was not the incongruity of the heating system that concerned her now. She must have spent longer with Celia than she had thought. Her mother would have been expecting her to ring at six o’clock, as usual, and abandoning any thought of dinner for the moment, Antonia picked up the phone.
These bi-weekly calls to Newcastle were going to prove expensive, Antonia reflected now, as she dialled her mother’s number, but they were the only way she could keep in touch with Susie. Letters were not a satisfactory means of expression to an almost six-year-old, particularly one who found it hard to understand why her mother should have to go so far away to work. It simply wasn’t enough to say there were no suitable jobs in Newcastle. Susie wanted to know why, if her mother had to live in London, she couldn’t do so as well.
Mrs Lord answered the phone after the first couple of rings, and over her: ‘Hello, Antonia? Is that you?’ the protesting sound of Susie’s voice was clearly audible.
‘Yes, Mum, it’s me,’ Antonia answered ruefully, guessing her daughter was being quite a handful. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I was talking to one of the girls who lives upstairs.’
‘You were? Susie, behave yourself! How nice, dear,’ her mother responded disjointedly. ‘But otherwise, you’re all right, are you? Have you had a good week?’
‘A busy one,’ conceded Antonia, sinking down onto the arm of the sofa close by. ‘Mr Fenwick has been away, and I’ve had to handle any emergencies myself.’
‘Really? Susie, put Tuppence down, there’s a good girl! They must have confidence in you then.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Antonia’s tone was dry. ‘But there is no one else, is there? Except Tom Brandon, of course, and he won’t do anything he’s not being paid for.’ She paused, and then added reluctantly: ‘I gather Susie’s playing up again.’
‘Oh, you know she has these phases,’ exclaimed Mrs Lord tolerantly. ‘Perhaps I’d better let her speak to you. There’ll be no peace for either of us until I do.’
Antonia felt the familiar constriction in her throat when she heard her daughter’s voice. She missed Susie terribly. Not just her company, and the mischief she got up to, but also her untidyness—the simple absence of anybody’s occupation of the apartment but her own. At home, she had seemed to spend her time clearing up after the child, and she remembered grumbling about doing so. Now, she would have welcomed the activity with open arms.
‘Are you being a good girl?’ she asked Susie now, after the initial greetings were over. ‘I can hear what’s going on, you know. While Nanna was talking to me, you were making a nuisance of yourself, weren’t you?’
‘No.’ Susie spoke with the convincing logic of someone who didn’t regret her actions.
‘But you were tormenting Tuppence, weren’t you? You know she doesn’t like being picked up.’
‘Tuppence is fat!’ declared Susie irrelevantly, as if the cat’s weight had anything to do with it. Then, her voice taking on a heartbreakingly tearful note, she added: ‘When are you coming to see me, Mummy? I don’t like staying here with Nanna. Nanna won’t play games with me like you do, and I don’t like watching television.’
‘Oh, Susie!’ Antonia pressed her lips together tightly, fighting back a similar kind of emotion. This was the first time she and her daughter had been parted. When Simon walked out, she had worried for a time that he might try and take the child away from her, but her fears had proved groundless. Now, she had done what she had always declared she would never do: leave Susie without either of her parents.
‘Couldn’t I come and stay with you?’ persisted the little girl now, taking her mother’s prolonged silence as an encouraging sign, and Antonia hated to have to disappoint her.
‘Darling, you have to go to school,’ she said, choosing her words with care. ‘And you have to take care of Nanna, too. She wouldn’t like to live in that big old house on her own.’
Susie sniffed mutinously. ‘Nanna wouldn’t mind …’
‘Yes, she would.’
‘… and I could go to school in London, couldn’t I?’ she added reasonably.
Antonia shook her head. ‘And what would you do when you came home from school and I wasn’t here?’ she asked gently. ‘Susie, you know if there was any way we could be together, we would be so.’ She hesitated. ‘You know I’ll be home for your birthday in two weeks time.’
Susie sniffed again. ‘Why can’t you come tonight? It’s Friday. You don’t work on Saturdays and Sundays, do you?’
‘Well … no …’
‘There you are then!’
‘… but it would be too expensive,’ explained Antonia, sighing. ‘Darling, the train fare to Newcastle costs too much for Mummy to come and see you every weekend.’
There was more of the same, and then when Susie finally dissolved into tears as she usually did, Mrs Lord came back on the line. ‘Don’t worry, Antonia,’ she assured her daughter airily, ‘five minutes after I’ve put down this receiver, Susie will have forgotten all about it. And Howard and Sylvia are coming tomorrow, so she’ll have the twins to play with.’
‘Yes.’ Antonia wished she felt more enthusiastic about that. Her brother’s twin boys were seven years old, and in her experience Susie had never looked forward to their advent. Still …
‘Don’t worry, Antonia,’ said her mother again, more brusquely now. ‘Look, my dear, I’ve got to go. Susie has to have her bath yet, and I haven’t fed Tuppence, and … and …’
‘And it’s Friday night,’ remarked Antonia, with controlled irony. ‘I know.’ Her mother usually played bridge on Friday evenings. ‘Okay, Mum. I’ll ring again on Monday as usual.’
With the receiver replaced on its rest, Antonia found her will to go and make herself something to eat had been sadly diminished. The kettle had switched itself off in her absence, and allowing herself to slide disconsolately off the arm of the sofa, she subsided on to the cushioned seat. She always had this awful sense of emptiness after speaking to her mother and Susie, and it was incredibly difficult not to give way to a totally selfish desire to burst into tears.
But self-pity was not something she allowed herself to indulge in for long, and presently Antonia got up from the couch and went to make a cup of tea. A pizza she had bought in the supermarket on her way home, was soon heated under the grill, and putting her cup and plate on a tray, she carried them