an hour and a half from Kings Cross,’ Helen said, pouring herself a mug of tea.
‘Really?’ The girl looked genuinely surprised. ‘You mean like the trains come right out here?’ she said.
Helen suppressed the desire to sigh and shake her head. ‘Every hour.’
‘Really?’ repeated Natalia, unable to conceal her amazement, as she finally shrugged the jacket off. ‘Well, wow – I mean that is really impressive. Anyway, as I said, I’m delighted to meet you. I’m so looking forward to working with you on your story,’ she gushed. ‘Jamie was really gutted that he’s not here today. When I told my mum I was coming to talk to you today she was just so envious. My mum said that you were a legend. She used to watch you every week on Cannon Square. Right from the first episode. And Jamie’s got them all on DVD right from episode one.’ Natalia grinned. ‘I think that the two of them were more excited than I was about me coming to meet you. Anyway, let’s get down to business.’
Helen smiled at her; Natalia, twenty-six, had been best in show on her degree course, according to Ruth’s latest email, which made Helen wonder whether there was anyone on the Roots production team who had just wandered in on the off chance of a job and got in on the strength of being nice, making good tea and being shit-hot with the filing.
‘We always like to come out and see people in their own homes if we possibly can,’ Natalia was saying earnestly. ‘It’s always nicer and makes it more intimate. I’m sure you read in the contract that we’ll probably want to come and do some of the filming here too, you know, like background; give people an idea of how you live now. People are always fascinated by other people’s houses, aren’t they?’ And then Natalia paused and looked anxiously over her shoulder. ‘Do you think my car will be all right out there?’
‘On my drive?’
Natalia nodded. ‘I mean like it’s locked and everything, but I was just wondering. You know.’ Her voice tailed off. ‘I was just wondering –’
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Whereabouts do you live?’
‘Hackney,’ Natalia said. ‘We’ve got a flat, nowhere near as grand as this, obviously, but it’s nice and really handy for work. My boyfriend and I keep saying once we have children we might like to move out – you know, to the country. Like Epping or Chadwell Heath or somewhere. His mum and dad come from Cheshunt. I quite fancy Brighton myself.’ She paused. ‘It’s the dark out here that would worry me; that and the quiet. And then you get the animals.’ She shuddered. ‘Me and my boyfriend went camping once, to the proper country. I wouldn’t want to do it again; there were all these really weird snuffling noises in the night and then you had to go to the loo in a shed. With a torch. I still get flashbacks.
Anyway we really like to see how our guests live, see them in their own environment. And how they cope day to day, what they do, cooking and that kind of thing.’ It made it sound as if Natalia was doing a home visit for social services. ‘I mean this is really nice,’ she said, peering around. ‘Why do you live upstairs, is it like a flat or something?’
‘No, I own the whole house. It’s just that the main sitting room is on the first floor.’
‘Right,’ said Natalia, scribbling something down on her notepad. ‘So, what, is the downstairs for your servants?’
Helen laughed. ‘I wish. No, the kitchen is down there, and the utility room, and there’s a gym and –’
‘And so your staff live out, do they?’ asked Natalia, pen poised above the pad.
Natalia had obviously worked with far grander stars in the past; or maybe she came from a generation that thought everyone on TV had an entourage of hired help dealing with the daily grind on their behalf.
‘No, I don’t really have any staff. We have Audrey who comes in to clean every day, and Bert, he comes in to help me with the garden –’
On the sofa Natalia was writing feverishly. ‘And you live up here because?’ She left the question hanging. Helen stared at her wondering what lurid possibility Natalia was considering.
‘Because of the view,’ said Helen, standing up and directing the young woman’s attention towards the tall windows, with their plush window seats and piles of cushions. ‘I really love the view from up here.’
Natalia stepped up beside her to take a look. ‘The view,’ Natalia echoed.
Denham Market was built on the hill where Norfolk began to drag itself up out of the dark rich expanse of the fenland. Situated a few minutes’ walk from the church, Helen’s house was a Gothic gem, with a fairytale turret at one corner and huge rooms with vaulted ceilings and broad oak floors. At this time of the day the sun came flooding in through the mullioned windows, casting everything in a warm glow.
Up on the first floor, the open-plan double-aspect sitting room looked out over the gardens on one side and over the dark red pantiled rooftops of the houses in the streets below on the other, and beyond the town the glittering snake of the river Ouse, which wound its way across the flat lands of the fen. Beyond that as far as the eye could see were acres and acres of farmed fenland, flat as a billiard table, rich and fertile, lush green or black or gold, depending on the season, stretching out to Ely in the southwest and Long Sutton in the north-west.
It had been the view and the unique appearance of the house that had attracted Helen to it in the first place; it looked for all the world like a fairytale castle up on its hill close by the church. On a clear day it really did seem as if you could see forever. Compared to the tiny terraced house she had grown up in, the view alone at High House lifted Helen’s spirits, the sense of space and freedom under the vast fenland sky finally letting her breathe.
‘So did you always live round here?’ asked Natalia, pen poised.
‘No, I was born and grew up in Billingsfield. It was a factory town. It couldn’t have been more different to Norfolk and this place. Number thirty-six Victoria Street; I’m sure I’ve probably got some photos somewhere. I remember as a little girl looking out of the front-room window of this tiny terraced house and having a horrible sense that I could easily be in the wrong one. Opposite me across the street was a house that was identical to mine, in a row of houses all identical to mine. All the doors were painted the same flat brown, all the windows had the same thick nets in the windows. Even thinking about it now after all these years it makes me shiver; it felt as if you couldn’t breathe.’
Natalia nodded and made another note.
Helen didn’t have that feeling living here. High House was unique, a one-off, with no twin staring back at it, no neighbours peering in, making judgements on her family, from windows that faced each other across a strip of tarmac. No one teased or tormented her here. There was no lying in bed at night hearing the frenzied scuttling and scurrying and raised angry voices from the family whose bedroom adjoined hers. No, up here in High House there was only Helen and the people she invited in, which today included Natalia, who was busy peering out of the window, probably trying to work out what all the fuss was about.
‘Over there on a clear day you can see Ely Cathedral,’ said Helen, pointing into the distance.
Alongside her Natalia stifled a yawn. ‘I’m not much of a one for views,’ she said.
‘So,’ said Helen, now that it was obvious her audience had moved on. ‘What else would you like to know?’
Natalia
