Sofka Zinovieff - Putney

‘Who’d have guessed? When we were young, I could never imagine being this ancient.’ Her low, throaty voice still cracked up into raucous laughter that Jane remembered from their teens. ‘Well, what the fuck, eh? Anyway, look at you! You look fantastic. I love your cropped hair – all spiky. When did you chop off your Rapunzel tresses? God, you must tell me everything.’ She spun around lightly and gestured for Jane to follow her, which she did, immediately feeling large-boned and leaden-footed.

The flat was painted odd, uncoordinated colours – turquoise in the hall, purple in the sitting room and mustardy ochre in the kitchen – and it was as messy as the rest of the building was orderly. Piles of books and clothes were strewn on the floors, food-encrusted plates and mugs were abandoned on shelves and tables and the layer of dust that covered most surfaces was so thick that Jane only just refrained from running her finger through it to make a mark.

‘Coffee? Tea? A glass of wine? A vodka shot? What would make you happiest?’

‘Oh, just a coffee, thanks.’ She smiled politely. They moved into the kitchen and Daphne put water and coffee in a battered stove-top espresso-maker.

‘You know, I’d never seen one of those until I went to Barnabas Road. I thought it was so exotic.’ Jane laughed, then regretted that she was revealing too much. She remembered the vaguely threatening hissing and bubbling as the black liquid entered the top chamber. Be careful, she thought.

‘So it’s a bit like stepping back into the ’70s here, isn’t it?’ Jane gestured to a throw on an armchair patterned with bold orange flowers and a collection of publicity photos and postcards of Marc Bolan, David Bowie and other stars from their youth. Daphne chuckled somewhat bashfully. ‘Yes, we thought we’d go the whole hog. Seeing as the place was still almost exactly as it was forty-odd years ago, we’re continuing the theme. Saved me having to redecorate. Libby and I are planning an evening where we get rigged up in Lurex tank tops, flared cords and Day-Glo wigs and dance to old recordings of Abba and Top of the Pops .’

She laid out some of the brashly patterned ‘vintage’ crockery on a tray with the coffee. ‘So! You must tell me everything. Still pushing the boundaries of science? Curing the world of cancer? I imagine you’re heading for a Nobel by now.’

‘Yup, Nobel Prize any day now. But yes, still working in cancer research. Still just as obsessed.’

‘And what about…’ Daphne hesitated. ‘Your husband?’

‘Oh, Michael’s fine – a head teacher now. The principal at Redgrove Academy. In Southwark.’

‘Such high-fliers! I expect your boys are geniuses too.’

Jane laughed at the exaggeration. ‘Well, they’re all grown up now. Josh is finishing a PhD in physics at Imperial.’

‘Wow. Following in his mother’s footsteps then?’

‘Yes, he’s firmly wedded to the sciences.’ She tried not to appear too proud, disapproving of boastful parents and knowing she could easily fall into the trap. ‘Toby’s taken a different path, though – halfway through a degree in English and drama at Birmingham.’

‘Amazing. So since I last saw you, you’ve brought up two brilliant sons. You must be so proud. It sounds like the perfect family.’ Jane scrutinised Daphne for a sign of irony, but detected none.

‘Of course, I’m convinced that Libby is the best, most brilliant, prettiest girl that ever existed, even if she is only twelve.’ Daphne flushed slightly from enthusiasm and produced a picture on her phone of a sweet if fairly ordinary, blue-eyed girl who looked nothing like her mother. ‘It’s so sad you can’t meet her today,’ she continued. ‘She’s at a Greek lesson, then going straight to a friend’s. Next time, though – definitely!’

‘So it’s the two of you living here?’

‘Yes, no man.’ Daphne had always favoured directness over the evasive, characteristically English ‘beating the bush’, as she called it aged twelve. ‘It’s better that way. I’ve tried to keep my relationships separate from home life with Libby – certainly in recent years. And at the moment there’s nobody anyway. I wouldn’t marry. Not again. Constantine was enough to put me off that for life.’ She looked away for a moment. ‘It all got quite scary and out of control. Not just the drugs and all sorts of unmentionables, but he got pretty nasty. Often on the verge of violence.’ She turned to face Jane. ‘You know I had a miscarriage? It was quite late. I think that all set me back years – in terms of sorting myself out.’

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.’ She’s still so pretty, thought Jane. You wouldn’t guess what she’d been through.

‘Yeah, well anyway, long-gone and all good now. The last guy in my life was Kit and he was away on assignment most of the time. A photographer. Wars and any other available horrors – you know the sort of thing.’ She laughed. ‘That ended last summer. I’m quite content, though. It’s actually rather peaceful.’

Daphne led the way out of the kitchen. ‘Let’s go through to the living room. You must see the view.’ It was just as she’d said – the south-facing windows gave on to the river and looked straight across to the backs of the tall, narrow, semi-detached houses on Barnabas Road.

‘Your old place has changed colour. It’s the pale grey one, isn’t it? Wasn’t it dark green in your day?’

‘That’s right. Here, take these.’ Daphne handed her some binoculars and Jane focused on the building that was so significant in her youth that she still revisited it in dreams. A Tube train crossed the bridge, sending gentle tremors through the room like a milder version of the regular rumbling that was part of life in Barnabas Road.

‘Wow.’ It was almost too much. Perhaps I should leave, she thought. I’m not sure I can do this.

‘So, are you working?’ Jane pulled herself back into the present with the question.

‘Yup. Too many years now at a crappy little travel agency called Hellenic Heaven! Or Hell, as it’s more commonly referred to. Could be worse. Pays the bills. And it’s the first place I’ve actually managed to stay in for longer than a few months.’ She shrugged. ‘Still, I always hope it’s not for too much longer. Especially now we’ve gone up in the world and for the last six months have been proud homeowners. It’s quite a change from our rented “garden flat” dungeon in Camden and all the other shitholes we’ve passed through or been evicted from. The neighbours here are by far the quietest, most genteel, well-heeled I’ve ever had! Libby says it’s like a posh hotel.’ They both laughed.

‘The only annoyance is that my dear old Aunt Connie made a clause in her will – I’m not allowed to actually sell this place. I suppose she deduced from all the early fiascos and failures that I still need some external control. She apparently hadn’t appreciated how much I’ve changed. A bit insulting, but there. Never mind. Anyway…’ She shook her head as if it would rub out that train of thought.

‘Here, sit down. I’ll just move this.’ Daphne cleared some of the rag-and-bone clutter off the armchairs. On the opposite wall hung a large collage made from textiles.

‘So I’m very involved with making these hangings now. I haven’t made my fortune – yet – but I love doing it. Almost a compulsion. The one thing in my life these days that’s completely absorbing and all-consuming. Apart from motherhood, of course.’

‘What’s the story on this one?’ Jane already felt uneasy.

‘It’s called Putney !’ Daphne laughed. ‘It’s a riff on my life across there. Doffing my cap to my childhood, I suppose. And, Jane, you were such an important part of that time – such a good friend to me. So loyal. See this long-haired girl in the garden here? That’s you! And inside the windows, those faces are Ellie and Ed. And that’s Theo leaning out with all the wires draped around.’