Different Genes Page 2

  “Just things,” she said out loud to herself, as she turned her back on the bungalow. “Just a ‘soon to be forgotten’ shadow of a lifetime.”

  The bungalow doors and windows were double locked. Bins were emptied. Switches were turned off. Her car was loaded up, and she began the half-hour drive to her home in Robertsbridge.

  193, Havelock Road,

  Hastings,

  East Sussex,

  TN34 1BH

  5th October 2016

  Dear Mrs Watson,

  Thank you for contacting us by telephone earlier this week. I can confirm that our valuer, Mr B Coggins, will be able to visit your late mother’s bungalow on Thursday 6th October 2016. As agreed, he will collect the key from the neighbours, Mr and Mrs Brown, and return the key afterwards. I anticipate his visit will take a maximum of one hour. We will then write to you at your address in Robertsbridge with a written statement of the estimated value of goods to offset against our disposal costs. You may wish to leave a few items of furniture and curtains in situ while the bungalow is on the market.

  We have already explained the evidence required as proof of probate.

  Yours sincerely,

  K Roberts and Son, House Clearance Specialists

  Two

  Freshers’ Week

  Two months after her eleventh birthday Louise travelled three miles with Joan to Bishop’s Stortford for her first day at Herts and Essex High School. The school was now a state-funded grammar school, but having previously been an all-girls, independent boarding school, it was still listed on the public school list. The all-female environment was steeped in tradition, and its nurturing environment was well suited to Louise’s protected background. The beige and brown uniform had to be purchased from Daniel Neale’s store in London. Girls wore gymslips for their first two years, after which their waists were considered suited to the dark brown block pleated skirts which were worn until the age of eighteen. Louise conformed without argument and was anxious to please her teachers.

  Her first English lesson was timetabled for the second day.

  “I want you to write about yourselves,” explained the teacher, “At least three pages. Do your very best, so I know how good you are at writing. Tell me as much as you can about your home, your interests, and your background. Try to make your writing interesting by giving it a context. Describe your earliest memories, and how you feel about your family. Start now, and finish your essay for homework.”

  The teacher moved around the classroom and discussed the writing with individual pupils. She noticed that Louise looked puzzled. “Do you have a problem, Louise?”

  “Not really. It’s just that I spent my first three years in Singapore, but I can’t remember anything about it. Nothing at all. It’s a shame, because I think it would be interesting to write about it.”

  “Perhaps your mother can jog your memory?” suggested the teacher, “Do you have any photographs?” Louise realised for the first time that Joan never spoke about Louise being in Singapore. She only ever talked about her own life there with Peter, Louise’s father. She would ask her mother that evening.

  After tea, Louise sat with her homework and asked her mother a question, “Have we got any photos of me in Singapore?”

  Joan hesitated and then explained, “I’m sorry Louise, all our photos of you in Singapore were lost in the move back to England.” Joan had used this excuse before with her own mother.

  “Why are you asking?”

  “We have to write an essay about ourselves for our English homework. I thought it would be interesting to say something about Singapore.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help, Louise. You’ll have to write about things you can remember.” Louise accepted the explanation without question. She continued with her homework, while her mother went upstairs. Joan moved a chair in front of her large walnut wardrobe and climbed up to find a shoe box at the back of a top shelf. She steadied herself, as she lifted the box down and placed it on the bed. She retrieved a black and white photograph of a three-year old child with pigtails standing in front of a very large detached building with an ornate porch and sweeping drive. She kissed the photo and took it down to show Louise.

  “This is the earliest photo I have of you. I can’t remember where it was taken, but I think we had just returned to England from Singapore. That might be a hotel.”

  Louise laughed, “Look at my hair! And my old-fashioned clothes! Can I keep this photo, Mum?” Joan noticed that Louise no longer called her ‘Mummy’.

  “I think I’d better keep it for you. You can have it, when you are older.” And Joan returned the photograph to its hiding place upstairs.

  Louise was an excellent student. Having gained eight good ‘O’ levels, she moved into the Grammar School Sixth Form in Bishop’s Stortford to study English, History and French. She had wanted to continue with her Art, but the school insisted that she was more suited to academic subjects. Her mother, Joan, had persuaded her that attending Art School would be a waste of her brain, and Louise reluctantly agreed. She secured a place to read English and Art History at Sussex University in Brighton, subject to reasonable ‘A’ level grades, which she easily achieved.

  And so it was that at the end of September 1973, Joan and Peter loaded Louise’s luggage into their car and transported her from the family home in Sawbridgeworth, Hertfordshire, to Brighton to install their daughter in one of the modern halls of residence at Sussex University. They helped Louise carry her suitcases up two flights of stairs to find her small single room with broken cupboard and undulating mattress. Louise took her parents for tea in the refectory. Joan reminded her daughter repeatedly about domestic necessities, and Louise listened to her mother with tolerance. Eventually Peter hinted to Joan that it was time to leave. Louise allowed her mother to hug her tearfully, before she watched in relief as both parents headed back to the car park.

  A red-haired student with large brown eyes and wide shoulders moved over to sit next to Louise.

  “It’s hard for them to say goodbye, isn’t it?”

  “Just a bit,” grinned Louise, “I’m Louise, by the way.”

  “Hi. My name’s Gillian. I was here for part of last year, but I got glandular fever and missed two terms, so they’re letting me repeat year one. What are you studying?”

  “Art History and English.”

  “Great. I’m doing English and Sociology. We might share some lectures. It depends what tutor group they put you in. It’s all up on the academic notice board in the central reception area. Would you like me to show you?”

  “That would be brilliant.”

  The two young women stepped out of the refectory to take a tour of the spacious and thoughtfully landscaped campus. There were plenty of lawned areas, and the tree-lined internal roads were well signposted. Gillian took the lead, but even so, Louise felt a sudden sense of independence. Her future had begun.

  They entered the main reception area and approached a large, well-organised, pinboard full of timetables. Louise made a note of her first week’s lectures and tutorials and then allowed Gillian to show her the campus sights. There was a sports hall, a book shop and two large lecture theatres, as well as numerous smaller teaching spaces and social areas. Once the tour was over, a time was agreed to meet later in order to go to the student bar. Louise returned to her room and began to unpack. She put her clothes in the wardrobe and drawers and lined up her books on the window ledge. She used a large paper clip to support a temporary repair to the broken hinge on her wall cupboard. Her sketch pad and small palette with brushes were placed on the little desk. She searched the skirting board for a power point. Fortunately, there was one near the bed. Louise plugged in the little light which would comfort her night-times. She was relieved that electricity was included in the rent.

  She pushed her suitcase under the bed and wandered in
to the corridor. The girl next door was sticking a massive brightly coloured poster from Athena on her bedroom wall. She stepped out into the corridor.

  “Are we allowed to use sellotape on the walls?”

  “Well it’s a bit late to ask now,” laughed Louise. The two girls introduced themselves, and Michelle was invited to join Louise and Gillian for their evening excursion to the bar.

  After a swift supper in the refectory, Louise returned to her room. She changed into faded jeans and T-shirt and used her new heated tongs to style her hair into gentle blonde curls. She met up with Gillian and Michelle in the lobby. Michelle looked stunning in a tight-fitting low-cut T-shirt with satin trousers. Gillian, in contrast, had tied her beautiful red hair tightly back away from her face, which accentuated her wide cheeks and broad shoulders.

  ‘Funny how we all like to look different,’ thought Louise.

  The student bar was packed out with freshers. Gillian led, as the girls fought their way to buy a drink. “You want a pint?” shouted Gillian.

  Michelle and Louise nodded, assuming that pints were the accepted drink.

  They grabbed their glasses from Gillian and moved to the side of the room. Clouds of cigarette smoke hung down from the ceiling, and the jukebox played ‘Angie’ by the Rolling Stones. Gillian offered Michelle and Louise a Rothman’s. Michelle accepted, and Louise shook her head. She began to feel a little out of her depth. She gazed around the crowded room and imagined a watercolour painting full of smoky faces. “I must fit in,” she told herself, but doubts began to invade her resolve.

  Within ten minutes Gillian had passed to the other side of the room and was chatting to a group of young women. Michelle was being pursued by an attractive young man who smelled strongly of Brut aftershave. Louise was left alone watching the room. She felt uncomfortable, but was determined to stay.

  She eventually decided to seek a few minutes’ refuge in the ladies’ toilet. Her mission to cross the room without spilling her half-full glass kept her focussed. She pushed open the outer toilet door and put her glass on the broken tiles of the window ledge.

  ‘Half full or half empty?’ Louise wondered, as she opened the inner door. Three girls were standing in front of the mirrors brushing their hair. Louise locked herself into a cubicle, then emerged and washed her hands in the sink. The green liquid soap had run out, and the blue roller towel was hanging loose from its housing. She shook her hands, then wiped them on her jeans to disperse the damp.

  When she reached the outer area, her glass was still in place and waiting for her. Another girl came from the toilets, picked up a glass, and stood behind her.

  “It’s busy, isn’t it?” said her companion, stating the obvious.

  “Very,” said Louise, “In fact I feel a bit overwhelmed.”

  “I’m so glad you said that. I thought it was just me.”

  The two young women stepped out of the entrance to the toilet and took refuge under the porch overhang, just outside the student bar.

  “What are you studying?”

  “History and French.”

  “We probably won’t meet up at lectures then,” said Louise, but she felt strengthened by their one moment of shared understanding.

  “I guess we had better go back in,” they both agreed.

  And each girl returned to their respective and separate places, glasses in hand.

  Three

  Meeting Charlie

  Despite a nervous start, Louise thrived at university. She had always been considered level-headed and capable of making mature decisions. Her inner calm and self-belief compensated for her sheltered upbringing. Although one of the younger students in her year, she quickly embraced both her new academic routine and her social life. She coped well with her studies and joined the university Art Society. She soon became familiar with the well-resourced art department, which was available for unlimited use by all student members of the society. She spent much of her free time exploring the variety of media, and took an optional extra class in watercolour painting. The flirtatious older male tutor would regularly tell the class that Louise’s paintings floated off the paper just like Louise. Although somewhat more eloquent, he reminded her of her childhood companion, Bob, and Louise kept him at a distance.

  Louise and Gillian became firm friends. They would travel by bus into Brighton together and rummage through the sales to make their grants stretch further. Gillian had passed her driving test, and, with the help of wages from a part-time job in a sports shop, managed to run a small car for more distant journeys. Louise and her ‘arty’ friends, as Gillian called them, would persuade Gillian to run them to Ditchling Beacon where they would sit on the hillside and sketch the views. Gillian secretly told Louise that she preferred girls to boys. There being little sensible publicity about gender preferences in the 1970s, Louise believed that Gillian was just going through a phase.

  Her other friend, Michelle, was, by contrast, a man hunter. She dressed in tight-fitting clothes to show off her sexuality and was often absent from her room in the morning after an evening’s dancing. Louise’s strict upbringing prevented her from entirely approving of Michelle’s lifestyle, but she envied the freedom which allowed Michelle to launch herself into a succession of unconstrained physical relationships. Louise was hugely admired by the male students at the university. Her tall willowy figure and long blonde curls suited the mid-seventies fashions, and heads turned whenever she passed through the campus. However, her good looks did not immediately translate into boyfriends. She had a slightly aloof air which kept all but the most adventurous suitors at a distance. As a result, Louise found herself being pursued only by the more courageous, but often insensitive and immature, young men who she frequently rejected. “Are you sure you don’t prefer girls?” Gillian asked more than once.

  ”I do like men,” Louise would always reply. “I just haven’t found the right one yet.”

  During her first year Louise dutifully returned home for each vacation. Joan and Peter would come and collect her in their car, and, at the end of each holiday, drive her back to university with boxes full of cake and bags full of clean washing. Much to Joan’s dismay, Louise moved out of hall for her second year and shared a rundown flat with Gillian and Michelle.

  “You’re not allowed to stay in hall in year two, Mum. That’s reserved for first years.”

  Joan worried how Louise would cope, but Peter reminded his wife that Louise would soon be twenty.

  “I hate to tell you this Joan, but Louise is a grown up, and very capable. Despite your best efforts to stop her, she has turned into a mature young woman.”

  Joan sighed, “I do know really.”

  Just before the first half term of year two, Louise plucked up the courage to tell her mother she would not be coming home. Instead she would be visiting friends for the holiday. She had been invited to stay with Michelle, who promised her dances and outings in the company of her older brother and his friends. They caught the train to Polegate, where Michelle’s brother, Charlie, picked them up from the station. He was about five years older than Michelle, medium height and full of charm.

  “Well, what have we here, Michelle? You didn’t tell me you were bringing such a beauty to stay. I’m going to have problems leaving the house to go to work.”

  “Stop talking such flannel, Charlie. Louise is my friend, and very refined. She doesn’t need to be flattered by you.”

  Michelle was secretly pleased that Charlie liked her friend. She looked up to her older brother and wanted his approval. Charlie lifted Louise’s case into the boot, and let Michelle put her own case on top. “Thanks for your help, brother dear.”

  “Gotta get my priorities right,” Charlie lifted one eyebrow and winked at Michelle. Louise climbed into the back of the car before Charlie could stop her. Michelle laughed and sat in the front next to her brother. He accele
rated as fast as he could and drove at speed to the family home in Willingdon just outside of Eastbourne. It was a large detached house with a circular drive and was decorated in, what Joan would call, slightly ostentatious style. Michelle’s mother came out to meet them. She hugged Michelle, and then Louise, and led the girls into the house leaving Charlie to deal with the cases. The house was immaculately clean and filled with display cases of porcelain dolls and collectable figures. Louise winced slightly at the décor. “What a beautiful house, Mrs Windsor.”

  “Please call me Mandy.”

  Mandy led the girls to a first-floor bedroom. There were two single beds with matching floral duvets, ornate built-in wardrobes and a large extravagant kidney-shaped dressing table with gilt mirror.

  “I thought you would both prefer to share the same room.”

  Mandy was pleased she had decided to put Michelle and Louise in together. Louise was a very attractive young woman, and she wouldn’t entirely have trusted her son if Louise had been left to sleep on her own.

  Louise looked round the bedroom and smiled. Everything in the house was matching and modern, but chosen in what her mother would call rather pretentious fashion. Joan’s childhood on the family-farm estate followed by eight years as an expat wife had indoctrinated her into a strictly class-led, understated system of taste. Louise suspected that both Joan and Peter would regard the Windsors as ‘new rich’.

  ‘Ironic,’ thought Louise, ‘With a surname like Windsor.’

  The week passed quickly. Michelle had obviously been given a lot more freedom than Louise, encouraged by her parents. Despite being slightly overweight, Mandy dressed in tight-fitting polyester knitwear, which revealed her cleavage, and her father (‘you must call me Stewart’) poured excessively strong gin and tonics for the two girls at every opportunity.