Joanna Trollope: The Other Family

Mr Harrison! Amy shot up in bed. Where was her watch? What was the time? What would happen if she kept Mr Harrison waiting?

‘It was opened in 2004,’ Bernie Harrison said. ‘It’s bigger than two footbal pitches and twice the height of The Angel of the North . And up there,’ he pointed to the vast curved roof soaring high above them, ‘there’s six hundred-some-odd panes of glass, and each one weighs more than two baby elephants.’

Amy was turning slowly, head thrown back, gawping.

‘I’ve run out of things to say—’

‘I’m old enough to remember the Northern Sinfonia being founded,’ Bernie said. ‘It was 1958. Michael Hal . I was sixteen, same age as your—’

He stopped. ‘No, I suppose she isn’t your anything, Margaret, is she?’

Amy retrieved her dazzled gaze from the immensity of the Sage’s roof.

‘Not real y—’

‘Your father’s first wife is just your father’s first wife.’

Amy swal owed.

‘She – she was his only wife. He and Mum never—’

Bernie Harrison cleared his throat.

‘Wel , don’t let it trouble you. Doesn’t trouble me. You made your mark with Margaret, I can tel you.’

‘I hope she wasn’t upset about me not staying—’

‘She’s got a mind of her own and she likes to see one in other people. I’ve known her since she was a stroppy little object in pigtails. We grew up in a different world from now, Margaret and me. You wouldn’t believe, now, our world had ever been, sometimes. It was hard, though. You can’t real y miss something that hard.’

Amy looked past him, along the immense shining spaces of floor, to the glass wal s and the view of the river. She said a little hesitantly, ‘So, the Grand Hotel—’

‘Yes,’ Bernie said firmly. ‘She’d deny it, but that’s why we like places like the Grand Hotel. We’ve made our mark and our brass and we like value for it. Quality.’

‘Of course.’

‘It may be different in London—’

‘Please don’t talk about London.’

Bernie glanced at her.

‘Very wel .’

‘I’ve just fal en in love with al this—’

‘It doesn’t take half an eye to see that.’

‘Everyone,’ Amy said, ‘has been so lovely to me.’

Bernie indicated that Amy should fol ow him across to the stupendous windows, to lean on the steel balustrade and look down on the river and the bridges.

He said, looking at the view, ‘We’ve al got something to give each other.’

‘I haven’t,’ Amy said, ‘I haven’t got anything. I’ve only just left school. I couldn’t even buy my own train ticket up here.’

‘You’re too sharp to take me literal y. It’s not about the money.’

‘Not having any makes you a bit helpless—’

‘Are you going to let that stand in your way?’

‘No,’ Amy said uncertainly.

‘There’s ways and means. There’s grants. There’s charities that like giving bursaries for music. There’l be a way if you want it.’

‘I want it so much—’

‘Wel ,’ Bernie said, ‘we’l see. You’d have to work hard for a year, you’d have to get some experience. But if something comes of it, it’l cheer us al up, I can tel you. We’ve got in a bit of a rut.’

‘Up here?’ Amy said, incredulous, gesturing at the slim white arc of the Mil ennium Bridge. ‘Up here ? With al this ?’

‘We’ve grown up with al this,’ Bernie said. ‘We’ve watched this city come alive again. My mother worked in a sweet factory in North Shields, and I drive a Jaguar and I like a fancy place to eat. But for al that, you keep needing a new energy, you never stop looking for the next little push and shove. I’l tel you something. I’ve got a good business here, a solid business. This place – wel , this place means I can think of performers I couldn’t even consider ten years ago. But I stil look to change, I look to improve al the time, and don’t ask me who for, because I’ve got no children and I don’t know who for, in the future, I only know it’s for me, right now. And what I want right now is for Margaret to come in with me, and manage the areas of the business that she manages better than anyone. She knows the North-East entertainment business like the back of her hand. And she won’t come. She goes fiddling on with that little tinpot business of hers, and she won’t come.’

‘Why?’

‘Because,’ Bernie said, ‘she’s stuck in a rut of her own.’

Amy put both hands on the rail and leaned back, her feet braced.

‘I thought I was stuck.’

‘You’re never stuck at eighteen.’

‘But if it’s how you feel—’

Bernie Harrison glanced at her.

‘Exactly. And you being young and being struck with al this made us old fogeys feel a whole lot better. Why else am I here and not in my office?’

Amy straightened up.

‘Thank you very much for that.’

‘I’m not doing it for you, young lady.’

‘Aren’t you?’

He shrugged. He was laughing.

‘I never do anything without a motive. And I’ve got two motives this morning. One, I promised Margaret we’d al have lunch together.’

‘Oh,’ Amy said.

‘Oh good or oh bad?’

‘Oh fine,’ Amy said.

‘And the second thing, before we go any further, is I need to have an idea of you.’

‘An idea—’

‘As a musician,’ Bernie said.

‘How—’

Bernie turned. He gestured across the concourse.

‘Down there,’ he said, ‘down one level, is the music education centre. Workshops, practice rooms, teaching rooms, recording studios. We’re going down there now. I’ve set it up. There’s a flute down there, waiting for you, and I’m going to hear you play.’

The owner of the Highgate flat was in Los Angeles.

‘Oh my God,’ Chrissie said, ‘did I wake you?’

He did not sound quite sure.

‘Not real y—’

‘I forgot the time difference. I’m so sorry but I quite forgot about Pacific time. I just wanted—’

‘Yes?’

‘I just wondered if you’d let the flat—’

‘Oh no,’ he said. He sounded as if he was lying down. ‘No, I haven’t. I was kinda waiting for you—’

‘Wel ,’ Chrissie said, ‘I think it wil be OK. I think – I think I’ve sold my house.’

‘Good,’ he said, ‘good news—’

‘Could you possibly wait a bit more? Could you wait two more weeks?’

‘Sure,’ he said, ‘I can wait two weeks.’ He yawned. ‘I’l even be over, I think, in two weeks. I’m not sure.’

‘That’s so kind of you—’

‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s business. My accountant says I should let it and you seem the right kind of person to let it to. That’s fine by me.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Cal me when you know—’

‘I wil . I’l cal you straight away—’

‘And go round there. Go and see it again. The housekeeper has the keys. Help yourself.’

‘Yes,’ Chrissie said, ‘thank you—’

‘See you,’ he said. He yawned again. ‘From sunny California, and a view of the freeway, I send greetings and say see you in Highgate.’

Chrissie put the phone down. The cal had been, despite the yawns, strangely elating. As was, to her surprise, the presence of the young couple’s surveyor in the house, tapping wal s and peering into cupboards in a manner that suggested he would be very, very disappointed if he found nothing amiss. Chrissie had made him tea – he’d been very specific, asking for only enough milk to cloud the tea, and one sugar – which he had left to get cold in the kitchen, but even that didn’t irritate her. She was beginning, cautiously, to believe that she was feeling better. Not al the time, and not reliably, dramatical y so, but she was distinctly aware that instead of believing she was at the mercy of Richie’s decisions, Richie’s erratic earning power and enthusiasm, Richie’s fans, Richie’s particular brand of sweetly expressed utter stubbornness, she was instead sensing the first stirrings of the luxury of being free to choose. She might have much – much – less money, and she would no longer own a property, but then she would no longer be in a position of dependency either, reliant upon another person for livelihood, for emotional reassurance.