The Apartment - K. L. Slater Page 0,50

here’ thing. I’m not sure what else to call it.

Dr Marsden denies saying anything about it the day we moved in, and Skye insists that she overheard him. I have to believe that she did, now that other details have come to light.

I’m crossing my fingers that once her life is full of school and new friends, she’ll forget all about it. I only wish I could.

There’s a flurry of noise and the sound of a door opening and closing and Audrey appears out of the shadows, dressed in a black trouser suit, as if she’s going to sit on an interview panel.

Her white, starchy quiff gleams in the filtered sunlight and her powdered skin looks heavily made-up this close.

‘Ready?’ she asks.

I nod and Skye grabs my hand and steps closer as we move towards the front door. A few minutes later, we’re negotiating a labyrinth of back streets lined with white stucco houses that I can only imagine the cost of.

‘I thought it would be nicer for you to see the hidden parts of Kensington, rather than we run the gauntlet of the high street,’ Audrey says.

I appreciate the gesture, but today I’d have preferred the diversionary bustle of the traffic and shops.

‘I’m glad you got the note yesterday letting you know the time to meet. I didn’t realise you’d popped out, usually I hear the front door.’

‘We were just downstairs,’ I tell her. ‘Lily Brockley in apartment four invited us down for tea and cake.’

‘Lemon drizzle,’ Skye provides.

‘I see.’ Audrey gives me a strange look. ‘I didn’t realise you two knew each other.’

‘We met her in the garden,’ I explain. ‘She and Skye share a love of birds.’

‘I’m helping Lily to feed the birds every day,’ Skye says.

‘Fancy that,’ Audrey murmurs, but her expression seems to sour a little.

We emerge from a side street and cross the busy Kensington High Street. Straight in front of us is the back of a very big, very old Gothic-style church.

‘St Mary Abbots. It has the tallest spire in the whole of London,’ Audrey remarks as we draw closer.

‘Wow!’ Skye is impressed with this fact and lags back a little, looking up in wonder.

I manage to get her moving again, and we pass a war memorial before making a sharp left underneath a quirky little bridge that seems to be part of the church itself. We emerge on to a short narrow road with the school on our right.

Audrey marches slightly ahead while we’re like two little sheep following her around another corner, which leads us into a pleasant green space bordered by the school playground wall.

Skye and I slow to a stop at the glorious sight in front of us. It’s the front of St Mary Abbots in all its splendour.

‘Breathtaking, isn’t it?’ Audrey nods.

A wall of noise spills over the high stone wall around the playground. The children must be outside on their break.

As we enter the bright school reception, I feel Skye’s fingers tighten anxiously around my own.

When she sees Audrey, the middle-aged receptionist sits bolt upright. ‘Mrs Marsden! How nice to see you.’

Audrey indicates for us to sit down on the comfy visitor chairs while she speaks in a low voice at the reception hatch.

‘The headteacher will be with you in just a moment,’ the receptionist calls over to us before resuming her conversation with Audrey. I wonder if she realises I’m the person she told yesterday that the head had no space at all in her diary.

Skye gives me a little grin, but I can see the nerves in the twitching corners of her mouth.

30

After a minute or two, the double doors leading inside the school building open and a handsome woman dressed in a midi tweed skirt and simple knitted sweater appears. Her short, wavy hair is dark with stylish silver tinges at the temples.

‘Audrey, how’re things?’ she says in a no-nonsense tone. One of the rare people I’ve seen so far who isn’t nervous in Mrs Marsden’s company.

‘I’m well, thank you, Iris,’ Audrey replies and looks over at us. ‘This is Freya Miller and her delightful daughter, Skye.’

She walks over to us, shakes my hand and then Skye’s.

‘Welcome to St Benjamin Monks, Skye,’ she addresses her. ‘Your class teacher will be along very shortly to show you around.’

Skye nods at her with wide eyes.

‘Thank you,’ I say. Before I can speak again, the doors open and a woman in her early thirties enters reception. She has neat bobbed hair and wears a floral maxi dress.