The top half of Troubadours’ front door was coloured glass, dark blue for the sea, light blue for the sky, with a white yacht nearly keeling over at their intersection. Jude rang the bell and the speed with which it was answered suggested that Natalie Kendrick had been waiting for her.
She matched exactly the image that her voice on the phone had conjured up. A thick-set woman probably in her sixties, she wore sensible black leather pumps, a denim skirt and one of those fawn padded gilets which imitate the contours of a woodlouse. The steel-grey hair was parted in the middle and curled in at the jawline to frame her broad face. Her make-up was uniform pinkish beige. She was one of those women who formed the rather unbending spine of England, the affluent middle class.
‘You must be Jude,’ she said forcibly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t get your surname …?’
‘Most people just call me “Jude”.’
‘Right.’ Natalie Kendrick’s tone suggested the response had not been entirely satisfactory. ‘Anyway, come through to the sitting room and have some coffee. Hang your coat over there.’
The décor of Troubadours was as predictable as its owner’s wardrobe. Beige fitted carpet, custom-made parchment-coloured curtains with a subtle design of foliage, matching pale green velvet sofa and armchairs (all of whose cushions had recently undergone a regimental plumping). One entire wall was windows, curved at the edges, providing, beyond the garden fence, the much-prized sea view.
Coffee was ready on a low table. Tray, cafetière, nice china. Posh, correct.
After the obligatory pleasantries about the weather and recent Fethering events (not many of those), Natalie Kendrick started the proceedings proper by saying, ‘As I mentioned on the telephone, it’s about my son.’
‘Yes.’
‘Tom.’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s been going through a difficult time.’
‘What kind of “difficult”?’
‘The fact is that my husband died three years ago.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘And Tom took it badly.’ Somehow there was the implication in her voice that she hadn’t taken it as badly as her son had.
‘That kind of bereavement can be very difficult for teenagers,’ said Jude. ‘Everything’s difficult for teenagers.’
‘Yes.’ There was a silence. ‘I should perhaps say that Tom wasn’t a teenager when his father died.’
‘Oh?’
‘He’s twenty-five now. Twenty-two when Gerald passed.’
‘Ah. Well, losing a loved one is difficult at any age.’
‘Yes.’ For the first time, Natalie Kendrick looked a little flustered. ‘I think his father’s death definitely made things worse, but Tom’s behaviour had always given cause for concern.’
‘In what way?’
‘He always had trouble, kind of … fitting in, I suppose one could say.’
‘Fitting in socially, making friends? Has he always been a bit of a loner, is that what you’re saying?’
‘To an extent, yes. Though he can be quite a gregarious boy. But …’ Natalie Kendrick looked the picture of middle-class angst. ‘It’s the kind of people he likes to mix with that’s the problem.’
‘Bad company?’
‘I’m not sure that they’re exactly bad, but definitely unsuitable.’
‘Ah.’ Jude was puzzled. She wasn’t sure whether Natalie was building up to some great revelation about her son. Everything she’d said so far sounded pretty imprecise and innocuous. ‘Could you explain a bit more about what’s wrong with Tom’s behaviour?’
‘Well, it’s just … I suppose the problem is that he doesn’t really appreciate all the advantages he has.’
‘This lovely house …’ Jude gestured around the room. ‘That kind of thing?’
‘Yes. More than that, though. Gerald saw to it that the boy went to his own old prep school and public school, and yet Tom didn’t seem to realize how fortunate he was. It was almost as if he always wanted something different from life.’
‘There’s a long history of young people rejecting their parents’ values.’
‘I am aware of that. But, with Tom … I mean, he actually had to leave the public school … under something of a cloud. Gerald was mortified. And, since then Tom’s been … I don’t know … a drifter. He never settles to things. He’s done all kinds of training courses and started jobs. Oh, goodness, there have been so many of them. I mean, it was clear at school that Tom was never going to be university material, so the professions were sort of barred to him. But Gerald and I reconciled ourselves to that.’ Something in her tone implied it hadn’t necessarily been an easy process.
‘So, we – well, I – started looking out more practical forms of training, you know, apprenticeships, that sort of thing.’ She couldn’t keep a slight edge of distaste out of the word. ‘We enrolled Tom in computer courses, electrical engineering, carpentry, you name it. He even started learning auto mechanics. But none of them worked out. We considered the hospitality industry. Tom has an easy manner with people, he’s well-spoken, we thought he might fit in there. But again, after a few months, for some reason or another, it came to an end. He never seems to stick at anything. Something always goes wrong.’
Jude was beginning to think that she should end the interview. She hadn’t exactly been brought to the Shorelands Estate on false pretences. But the ‘people round the village’ who had recommended her services to Natalie had, not for the first time, misunderstood what she actually did. To the average person, healing was a very vague concept. Though it inevitably encroached on mental distress, the primary focus of Jude’s work was dealing with physical ills. And it sounded as though Tom Kendrick, if he required any therapy, needed the help of a psychiatrist rather than a healer.
She spelled this out to Natalie, hoping to make good her escape, but the widow was not diverted so easily from her purpose.
‘I think you should at least meet Tom, talk to him. Maybe you will be able to find some common ground.’
Jude shrugged. ‘Well, if you like. Since I’ve actually come here, I’ll do that. But I’m not very optimistic that it’s going to work.’
‘What did Mummy say about me?’ Tom Kendrick poshed up the word ‘Mummy’ to give it a satirical edge.
‘What do you mean?’
‘For example, did she tell you that I was adopted?’
‘No. No, she didn’t.’
He nodded. He was a tall, large-limbed creature dressed in jogging bottoms and a hoodie, open to reveal a T-shirt advertising the tour of some band Jude had never heard of. He spread himself across a sofa in a posture of indolent ownership.
‘No, she tries to avoid telling people if she can. I think that was on Mr Kendrick’s orders, actually. He hated telling people I was adopted. Maybe he thought the fact that they couldn’t have children was a reflection on his virility. He was very old-fashioned in many ways. Always liked to have his ducks lined up in a row. Didn’t like things that didn’t fit in.’
‘Like you didn’t fit in?’
‘Oh, well done, yes.’ He slowly clapped his hands in dry appreciation.