Surprise Me

She links her arm in mine and we sit there silently for a while. And despite everything, I feel strengthened by what she’s just said. It feels true.

‘I don’t know if that helps,’ she says at last. ‘Probably not.’

‘No, it does,’ I say. ‘It does. You always help.’ I squeeze her tight and give her an impulsive kiss, then get to my feet. ‘I have to go. I’m late.’

‘Shall I walk with you?’ offers Tilda at once and I feel another wave of affection for her.

‘No, no.’ I pat her shoulder. ‘Stay. Say a proper goodbye to Toby. He’ll be back,’ I add over my shoulder as I set off. ‘He’ll be back to see you. You wait.’

FOURTEEN

As I travel to work, the maelstrom in my mind gradually, gradually calms down. Walking along the London pavements, I feel as though with every step I’m pushing my problems down. Away. I mean, I have to get on with life, don’t I? I can’t sit crying and shaking at work.

To my surprise, as I enter Willoughby House, Mrs Kendrick is in the hall, along with Robert and an unfamiliar guy in a blue suit with a shaven head. The guy is looking around the spacious, tiled hall with a practised eye, and I instantly know he’s in property.

‘Hello, Mrs Kendrick!’ I say. ‘How lovely to see you here. It’s been a while!’

‘Sylvie, I’m so sorry.’ She puts a hand on my arm. ‘I know I’ve left you in the lurch recently. I’ve been rather busy.’

‘Robert said you’ve been learning to use a computer?’

‘Indeed I have! I have an Apple Mac.’ She says the words carefully, as though enunciating a foreign language. A-pple Mac.

‘Wow!’ I say. ‘Amazing.’

‘Oh, you can do all sorts of things on it. I bought this “online”, you know.’ She plucks at the white frilly shirt she’s wearing. ‘Do you see? They delivered it straight to my house from the shop. I just had to type in my credit card number. So convenient.’ She nods, as though satisfied with herself. ‘And then I reviewed it on Review Your Stuff. Four stars out of five. Nice fabric but the buttons are a little cheap. You can read my review, if you like.’

I feel a bit speechless. Mrs Kendrick has gone from not knowing what a computer is, barely, to reviewing products online?

‘Right,’ I say at last. ‘Well, I don’t know that particular website—’

‘Oh, but you must, you must.’ She fixes me with a glittering eye. ‘Reviewing is the most marvellous hobby. You can review anything. I reviewed the policeman standing outside my block of flats yesterday.’

Robert turns and stares at her incredulously.

‘Aunt Margaret, you can’t review policemen.’

‘Of course you can,’ says Mrs Kendrick crisply. ‘In the “General” category you can review anything you like. Teabags … holidays … policemen. I’m afraid I only gave him three stars. He was slightly dull about the eyes and wore his uniform badly.’

As she speaks, she eyes the shaven-headed guy meaningfully, and I bite my lip. Mrs Kendrick is back on form. Thank God for that. And I’m definitely going to look up some of her reviews. I just love the idea of Mrs Kendrick’s views on life being disseminated across the internet.

The shaven-headed guy moves towards the rear of the hall and I say quietly, ‘Who’s that?’

‘That is Robert’s guest. I believe his name is “Mike”.’ She enunciates ‘Mike’ with slight disdain.

‘You know his name is Mike,’ says Robert patiently.

‘Really, Robert, this has nothing to do with me,’ says Mrs Kendrick frostily. ‘You may proceed however you wish. When I’m dead, it will all be yours, anyway.’

‘Are you selling up?’ I stare at Robert. ‘Weren’t you going to give us a chance first?’

‘I’m finding out our options,’ he says a little testily. ‘Gathering information.’

‘Some people give up.’ Mrs Kendrick gives Robert a scathing look. ‘Others think outside the space.’

‘“Outside the space”?’ As Robert confronts Mrs Kendrick, he seems beleaguered and I wonder if this disagreement has been going on all morning. ‘Outside the space isn’t even a saying! As I’ve told you, all I’m doing is getting a valuation …’

‘And as I have told you, Robert,’ Mrs Kendrick retorts crisply, ‘I have come up with an ingenious plan in which you do not seem interested. You may think I’m a dinosaur, but I can move with the times.’

Robert sighs. ‘Look, I am interested, but I need to deal with this first …’

‘It is a forward-looking idea.’ Mrs Kendrick turns to me. ‘It involves a smartphone.’

I clamp my lips together, trying not to smile. Mrs Kendrick enunciates ‘smartphone’ with the same care as ‘Apple Mac’, accentuating ‘phone’ instead of ‘smart’. ‘Smartphone’.

‘Mavis, where is your smartphone?’ She raises her voice. ‘We need the smartphone.’

Mavis is one of our most stalwart volunteers, a plump lady with dark bobbed hair, shapeless dresses and sturdy shoes that she wears all year round. She’s clutching an iPhone and brandishes it at Mrs Kendrick. ‘Here you are, Margaret. Are you ready?’

‘Well, not quite.’ Mrs Kendrick looks around the hall, as though seeing the occasional tables and porcelain urns and eighteenth-century paintings for the first time.

What on earth is she planning to do? Take a selfie? Post a picture of Willoughby House online? Write a review?

‘Where shall I stand?’ Mavis looks around. ‘A few steps back, I think?’

‘Yes.’ Mrs Kendrick nods. ‘Perfect.’

I’m watching, intrigued, as they manoeuvre themselves round the hall. Mavis keeps holding her iPhone up as though to frame Mrs Kendrick, and the pair of them seem to have something quite specific in mind.

‘Robert, to the left,’ says Mrs Kendrick suddenly. ‘Just a little. And “Mike”?’ Even as she addresses him, she manages to make his name sound ridiculous. ‘Could you possibly stand on the stairs? Now, quiet, everyone, I’m going to film.’

Before anyone can protest, she draws breath, beams at the iPhone and begins speaking, whilst simultaneously walking backwards over the black and white tiled floor, like a TV presenter.

‘Welcome to Willoughby House,’ she says in clear, distinct tones. ‘A hidden gem in London. A treasure trove of art and antiquities. And a snapshot of what life was really like … Argh!’

‘Shit!

‘Oh my God!’

Everyone cries out in horror as Mrs Kendrick stumbles on the tiled floor, trips, and crashes heavily into a little circular table, knocking a blue and white urn flying. It seems almost to stop, poised in mid-air, before Robert, in a flying rugby tackle, hurls himself at it. He grasps the urn, rolls on the hard floor and there’s an audible crack as his head hits the stair banister.

‘Robert!’ Mrs Kendrick shrieks. ‘That’s twenty thousand pounds you’ve just saved!’

‘Twenty grand?’ Robert stares at the urn with such an expression of horror I want to laugh. ‘What’s wrong with the bloody world? Who would pay twenty grand for this?’