by Theo Jones
The house was a big part of all that happened; it shaped and influenced relationships, it suggested different ways of living, making some things easy and others harder. An environment is always like this; living cheek by jowl in the inner city leads to different characteristics and interactions than running a spread the size of Cornwall in the Australian Outback.
81 Clarendon Street was a large Victorian terrace, three storeys high. It stood on a tree-lined street just outside the centre, in the sweet spot where the calm of suburbia began but the razzle of the city was still close enough to taste.
When Richard and Jeanette Hope had bought it in the late 1940s, the area had been run down, bomb sites everywhere, the affluent long departed. However, it was half way between the university where Richard lectured in English Literature, and the school where Jeanette taught French, and it was cheap. They'd met in France, the dashing young officer fighting the Nazis and the sweet coquette from the farm he was billeted in.
She'd been beautiful, and although that faded, she carried with her the wiry toughness of the peasant farmer, the loving integrity of a god-fearing people. He'd been handsome, although handsome doesn't last, and the best qualities of the British officer class shone in him his whole life. They were soul mates.
The house had a dusty basement, a decent rear garden, large high-ceilinged rooms and an imposing front door, up a short flight of stone steps. At the very top of the house was a set of almost self-contained rooms... a bedroom, a kitchen and a bathroom. A door at the top of the stairs would have made it a flat.
In their early penurious years they had lodgers up there, sometimes couples, once a whole family but more usually single men, grateful for decent digs. As their own children got older it became a tradition that the eldest had those rooms, where they could practice being more grown up safely, ready for the day they finally left. Each of their three children, one boy and two girls moved up the stairs before, one day, suddenly, shockingly, they'd all gone.
They didn't need the money then, but they did need to feel they were helping, supporting a young person on their way. After a few beery young men had made themselves unwelcome they agreed they'd only have young women. They charged about a third of a commercial rent, all bills included, so they had their pick of potential lodgers.
They came through friends of friends, the university, Church and school. They stayed a week, a year, whatever, until they were ready to make their own way. Mr and Mrs Hope saw it as a helping hand on to full independence, not cheap lodgings, for years on end to subsidise a party lifestyle. They were a sober, serious, kindly couple and they felt that this offer was part of their values, to support and guide youngsters, often to add to their 'family', as many of their lodgers stayed in touch.
Lucy Priestman came to Clarendon Street through her work. She'd left home for the first time at twenty-one to work at a children's charity in the city. She'd been struggling to find somewhere to live and her manager knew the Hopes through Church. Lucy was a small, slender, initially diffident young woman, with short dark hair, a smile that lit up the room, and an unlined face speaking of the innocence of youth.
She was indeed innocent, kind of innocent anyway. She was an only child of a single mother. Her mum, bless her, was scatty, unpredictable, given to sudden enthusiasms and equally sudden indifference. This, sadly, applied to her relationship with her daughter as well. Lucy was often left wondering where she stood with her mum, yearning for some stability, blaming herself for the relentless rollercoaster.
Still, she was all grown up now and this place was fantastic, so cheap, near work and town.
"So, there are very few rules, Lucy, we want you to feel at home. Just keep the place clean and tidy, no noise after about 10, no smoking and erm... well... er... no overnight guests shall we say?! Well, without asking, anyway."
Mrs Hope had managed to convey what was expected, in her slightly accented English. It had been funny to see her blush slightly as she tried to talk about not wanting boyfriends to stay over. All that was fine, anyway. She liked the odd smoke, but it was no hardship to do it elsewhere. Any young men she entertained could go home afterwards. She smiled as she mimicked Mrs Hope's embarrassment in her thoughts. Sweet, but a bit fuddy-duddy.
Jeanette Hope's heart went out to their new lodger, she looked so young and naive, awkward and sweet, not quite knowing what to do with herself. She looked like she needed looking after. Richard was a bit less smitten, he thought he saw signs of what he called 'little madam syndrome' about her, but he was pleased to see his wife so happy as her maternal instincts reawakened.
Both of these things were true; as they stood in slightly different places, they saw different aspects of Lucy. Jeanette started showing Lucy how to iron and then just did most of it herself, as the girl fumbled about. She tried to help her cook a more complicated meal than cheese on toast and eventually did it all as Lucy became flustered and butter-fingered, in both meanings.
Richard saw Lucy's sly little smile of satisfaction after these kinds of interactions and the knowing sway of the hips whenever young men were around. Jeanette huffed and puffed about 'poor Lucy', wondering how her mum could have let her come to the big city, unprepared and vulnerable. Richard raised an eyebrow but otherwise kept his counsel; his darling Jeanette had a new mission and she would not be dissuaded from it.
She talked more and more about 'my Lucy' and 'my little Lucy', what she liked, what she didn't like, with shining eyes. Friends and acquaintances humoured her; it made her happy, so where was the harm? Lucy was filling a gap in her life, a daughter sized hole.
It would, perhaps, have been different if her daughters lived nearby, or if she had grandchildren, but neither were so. Her eldest two were married but showed no sign of having children, so unlike the old days; she and Richard had their first 9 months after they married, and the two others with two years.
His career had taken their son to America, where he met his wife; their eldest daughter lived in Britain, but almost three hundred miles away. Josephine, their youngest, was single, again, and currently travelling in the Far East. She'd be at home for a while, working and saving money, then she'd be off; at least the others had sort of settled down, as far you could, without children.
All this meant that Jeanette Hope was ready to respond to Lucy's arrival in her life with a kind of gratified wonder, to see all that was appealing and pleasing in their lodger; she was so... just so... so much like a lovely daughter, or a fantastic niece.
Lucy also sang Mrs Hope's praises, she was so kind, so thoughtful, so... she would have said 'motherly' but that felt a bit squirmy, so she said that she was 'like an auntie', that was safe enough. Mr Hope was more distant but so dependable, things like changing light bulbs and fuses fell to him. He had a kind of bluff cheerfulness, an unfailing optimism that things could be sorted out. She didn't think of him as fatherly, but then she didn't have any experience of having one.
Lucy's frequent clumsiness and inexperience just endeared her to Mrs Hope even more. She found her keys dangling in the front door several times, Lucy blushed so prettily as Jeanette clucked indulgently about her forgetfulness.
"Oh, Lucy, we'll have to put them on a ribbon round your neck, if you carry on like this!" She wagged her finger in mock admonition as Lucy flushed and stammered an apology. Mrs Hope smiled and gave her a big hug. It was just like the old days, when she was so needed, so loved and central to a young person's life.
"Don't you worry, Lucy, we'll look after you. We'll get you sorted out, my sweet."
Lucy felt a bit teary, that warm squirmy feeling again, at the promise of care and guidance. She'd come to just the right place. In the few weeks she'd been here her mum had only rung three times, once when she was clearly drunk. Lucy had tried to call her at least a dozen times and it just went to the answerphone. Jeanette Hope was always there, always calm and kind; she was perfect really.
Of course, every honeymoon must end and, for Lucy and Mrs Hope, the hornet in the ointment was smoking. The Hopes had both smoked when they were young but once they found out how harmful it was, they stopped, becoming fierce protagonists in the war against tobacco. They simply would not, could not, tolerate it, particularly as their children came along. Who would ever let their beloved babies do such a harmful thing?
Lucy's mum, on the other hand, smoked quite a lot, especially when the red wine was flowing. Her daughter smoked as a matter of course, but not heavily. She'd have one or two a day, especially with a glass of wine after a meal. She wanted to respect the house rules, she really did; the trouble was that going down three flights of stairs and over the road to the park to sit and have a ciggie was a real bind.
Would it really matter, she thought, the odd one with the window open wide? What harm could it do, if they never knew? It would, of course, have done little harm if it had stayed hidden but smoking is a messy, smelly business and getting rid of the evidence was almost as much work as going to the park. So, it came about that Mrs Hope found cigarette butts and ash in Lucy's waste-paper basket one morning. She felt a sharp stab of disappointment and then a warm flush of anger; how could her little Lucy do this to her, to them?
Lucy came home from work, looking forward to a nice cup of tea, perhaps a little treat as well; Mrs Hope often baked cakes or biscuits for her. As she came in, she gave a loud cheery greeting, expecting one in return. There was silence, an ominous hush. She walked gingerly through the house to find her 'auntie' sitting, grim faced, with the butts and ash laid out on a saucer, on the kitchen table in front of her.
"Oh, Mu... Mrs Hope, Jeanette, I... I-I'm sorry, I really am!"
Lucy's voice was tremulous, her eyes already wet with unshed tears, hands wringing as she stood, the picture of a sad, guilty girl. She'd felt a cold douse of fear as she saw the evidence of her misbehaviour and Mrs Hope's stony face.
Jeanette Hope had felt a sudden sharp twist of emotion as Lucy started to speak, as she almost called her Mum. Her heart went out to the poor girl, she almost forgave her straight away but just managed to keep a hold of herself; Lucy did need to be put straight.
"Oh, Lucy, I was so disappointed! Whatever did you think you were doing?"
Lucy just hung her head. She'd seen Mrs Hope's face soften, heard the kindness in the slightly sing-song voice and just felt so guilty at her own deliberate misbehaviour and deception.
"I'm just... just... so... s-sorry!"
Tears were close now. Mrs Hope reached out and gently pulled her close, looking up at her sorrowful face.
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