Homework by Margot Livesey Read Free Book Online Page B

and hoped to sublet his flat. I reached Malcolm at the first attempt, and in twenty minutes we had made the necessary arrangements. A week later the old-fashioned, heavy keys thudded through my letter box. With equal ease I sublet my flat to a friend of Gillian’s who was coming to London for a year to do an M.A. at King’s College. These arrangements made my impending exile more bearable, for they reminded everyone that I was only going away for a year, a claim that was further supported by the managing editor of Fredericks, who assured me I could have my old job back anytime.
    No sooner had I arrived in Edinburgh, however, than my effortless progress ceased; it was as if I had coasted to the bottom of a steep hill, and the route ahead lay sharply upwards. When the train pulled into Waverley Station, it was raining hard, and the queue for taxis wound down the pavement and round the corner. As I shuffled forward with my suitcases I surveyed the station. At ground level a barrage of garish signs offered refreshment, but above the first storey the trappings of the twentieth century fell away. The upper part of the huge structure was grimly Victorian. Rain fell relentlessly on the glass roof. In his travelling cage, Tobias uttered piteous cries.
    Half an hour passed before it was my turn to climb into a cab, which at least had the virtue of looking like a London taxi. I gave the driver Malcolm’s address and settled back into my seat. We came out of the station, opposite what I guessed to be Princes Street Gardens, and turned in the direction of a forbidding mass of black buildings which stretched up the
hillside towards the Castle. The pavements were thronged with pedestrians carrying umbrellas. Only a few hours earlier, I had left London in brilliant sunshine.
    The expediency of departure had created a kind of excitement which had carried me through the day so far; now as the moment of arrival approached, I wished, in spite of the meter’s swift clicks, that it could be indefinitely postponed. After barely ten minutes, however, the driver slowed down. “It was number sixteen you wanted?” he asked. I agreed, and we pulled up at the curb.
    I unloaded Tobias and my suitcases into the rain, and the taxi drove away. I stood looking up at the building. Number sixteen was part of a terrace of houses built of dark red sandstone. There was something dourly respectable about the facade that brought to mind all the unpleasant rumours I had heard about Scottish Calvinism. It was inconceivable that I was going to live here. Only for a year, I told myself, and picked up the cage and a suitcase.
    The front door opened into a short corridor that lead to a flight of stairs. The floor was stone, and the walls were painted in two colours, the bottom half maroon, the top pink. One by one I carried my bags up to the fourth floor. Not until I had everything on the landing, did I put the key in the lock and push open the door.
    Like the palace of Sleeping Beauty, Malcolm’s flat had the appearance of being both suddenly abandoned and neglected for a long period of time. In the living room, cigarette ends filled the ashtrays, newspapers were scattered over the sofa and the floor, coffee cups, some half full, stood on the sideboard, and the sink was stacked with dishes. A layer of dust and dirt covered every surface. The other rooms were in a similar condition: a towel hung lopsided on the edge of the bath; the covers on the bed were thrown back.
    On the table was a note: “Welcome. Make yourself at
home. Sorry the place is a bit of a shambles. If you have any problems, give me a ring. Cheers, Malcolm.” He had propped the piece of paper against the antiquated black telephone, as if to urge me to act on his suggestion, but when I picked up the receiver the line was dead.
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    By morning the sky had cleared and I woke to find the high-ceilinged bedroom filled with light. I lay in bed thinking about Lewis. During